


Of Bootleggers and Mob Bosses

by MiniRaven



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Prohibition Era, Bootleg, Great Depression, M/M, Period Specific Homophobic Language, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Prohibition, Street Gang, mafia, mob boss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-25 15:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 82,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3815905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniRaven/pseuds/MiniRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The Mafia/ Bootleg AU that no one had written to my satisfaction, so I have to do it myself.)</p>
<p>A multi-faceted battle is going on in the underground of the Big Apple. The Iron Family is stirring up trouble where trouble don't belong. The Hydra Gang is a developing cancer in the rise of Hitler. And the Brooklyn Boys just tryn' to get by in the midst of the depression.</p>
<p>Out side all that, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers think they have found the love of their life (or as close as you can get in the homophobic society of  1934).  Thing is, they don't know that one is a small time mob boss out for vengeance, and the other is a gang leader makin' profit off bathtub gin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the Breadline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me start out by saying that I plan on finishing this. I only have 7 of the 12 planned chapters written (3 typed, 4 handwritten), but my goal is to start and finish this story by the end of the year. Updates will be twice a month around the first and third Friday/ Saturday. I am staring a new job in a different country, so please bear with me if I fall behind. I want to make sure I meet my goal and what I produce is good quality content.
> 
> Fair warning that there will be some period specific homophobic language due to the historical context, but I'm trying to keep it at a minimum. Please let me know if I need to tag anything else.
> 
> Quick thanks to my beta kuailong.

“Hey, this the line for food?”

Steve inspected the stranger. Basic observations, nothing more. Average height for a male. Steady scruff of hair along the jawline (ruled out mafia. Mafia weren't allowed facial hair). A little shifty, but didn’t look like the trouble makin’ variety. Shifty like those who just came off the boat lookin’ for a better lot in life.

“Yeah. Line starts behind me," he said.

The man whistled. “Damn, and I thought Boston was bad.”

“Not from around here, I take it.” It was more of a statement than a question. His knack for the language (or lack thereof) ruled out immigrant, and he definitely didn’t sound like a local. Didn’t have the same accent as the boys in Brooklyn. “Looking for work?” he asked. Guy wasn’t dressed to impress, but even Steve could appreciate a fine looking fellow if given the space.

The suit he wore was nice. A gently worn tweed jacket and trousers hugged his body and kept out the occasional nip of spring air (and considering the times, it looked in good condition). A miss-matched cap hid what looked like a mess of dark curls and a brilliant pair of brown eyes.

The man shrugged, looking a little lost in the oversized coat (must belong to a neighbor). “Isn’t everyone? I got a telegram last week saying my skills could be of use up here. Don’t got nothing much better to do back home, so might as well take a chance.”

Steve smiled. “Good to hear. Not much work for us advertisement artists, but I’ll pray for you.” Maybe he wasn’t getting work for his art, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope for the prosperity of others.

The man raised a well-groomed eyebrow. “Religious?”

“Catholic,” Steve replied with a cautious breath. “Irish Catholic.” His eyes darted across the stranger’s face, looking for some clue. The reaction Steve was used to was usually instantaneous. But so far, no sign of the usual disgust. “Do you-”

“Me? No,” the man brushed off the comment like it was nothing. “Parents were Italian and Spanish. Hence the soft leather skin,” he said with a mischievous eyebrow waggle that made Steve want to laugh. “You’ll get none of that religious bigotry from me.”

“Thanks,” said Steve with a sigh of relief. “You don’t know how many times that has caused a fist fight or two. Not easy to be an immigrant here.”

“Or a child of an immigrant,” the stranger said with a knowing look.

Steve nodded in agreement as wordless seconds of shared history passed between them. Things like that didn’t need to be said. It was a common enough experience among first generation Americans. The bullying, prejudice, pain, and confusion was something they faced every day. To find someone else with a similar story in such a bustling city was always an unsaid comfort. To know you weren’t alone, or going crazy, as faceless people went about their business was a reassurance.

“Where are my manners,” Steve said, breaking the silence and offering a hand. “I’m Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Anthony,” he said with a calloused grip of his hand. Working man then.“But everyone calls me Tony.”

Steve let out a quiet laugh. “Don’t they understand the irony?”

Tony smiled, a dazzling bright smile that lit up his face. “I don’t think they do.”

“You should tell them,” said Steve, relaxing against the red brick wall for the first time since he got in line. “To-ny. To NY (New York).” Immigration joke. It was low, but from the looks of it, the joke made Tony smile.

Tony shook his head, smile still on his face. “Nah. I already gave them ridiculous nicknames to get ‘em back. Good pal of mine James Rhodes. Met him while I was at college, call him Rhodey. Hated when I first started calling him that, but it stuck. And I got this gal, Pepper, her first name is Virginia of all things. Why her parents name her that, I will never know. But, she’s got the prettiest peppering of freckles over her face, couldn’t help myself when I saw her. She hates it, good god she almost slapped me when I called her that for the first time. But what can I say, my charming personality wore her down.”

Steve felt his heart sink a little, and he silently he berated himself. He was not feeling jealous of a guy he just met, he told his sinful heart. He was not! It wasn't possible and it was most definitely not appropriate. “Your friends are back in Boston or here in Brooklyn?”

“Here? Are you kidding me?" Tony scoffed. "There is no way they would have bad enough taste to live in a place like this. And even if they did, I would do everything in my power to make sure they didn’t take up residence here. No, we have the good sense to take up residence on Manhattan until they find work. Nothing too fancy, mind you, but anything better than this dump.”

Steve felt his heart being crushed. Better now than later. But it was his town. His baby Brooklyn that was being insulted. And by the look on Tony’s face, he was beginning to realize what he had done. Bucky always did say when Steve got sad or confused he could easily mistaken for a kicked puppy.

“This dump that you clearly live in. God I’m an idiot! Don’t listen to me. No, wait. Listen to me and slap me if I say something stupid like that again. Then again, don’t because if that was true Pepper would have slapped me five ways ‘till Sunday by now. God Tony, can you ramble more than you already do? I mean, I know I ramble when I’m working on stuff, or when I’m nervous, or when I’m drunk-”

“Tony," Steve said, trying to interrupt his line of thought.

“Can I say that? I mean, prohibition and all, but a guy’s gotta find a way to kick back and relax, you know? And if you think I’m bad now, you don’t want to even think about when I-”

“Tony!”

Steve could physically see Tony skid to a stop when he broke through Tony’s train of thought. Was he shaking? God, what had Tony been through to react like this? It was only an apology for a silly little thing. Well, it wasn’t silly to Steve, but that didn’t matter at the moment. What mattered was Tony, and Tony was in pain right now.

In his gut, Steve wanted to reach out and reassure Tony that everything was okay. He had just met the guy, but he wanted to touch him and take some of the pain away. Any part of it. Even the smallest bit would help. A juvenile part of him wished could kiss it and that would make it all better.

But that was impossible.

Instead he gave Tony a smile. A easy, but heartfelt smile that said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m here if you need me.’ But he couldn’t say that outloud. That wasn’t right. Instead Steve said, “It’s fine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions.”

Those few words made the shaking stop. Tony’s face brightened a little at the gesture, and it made Steve’s heart hurt more. Just a few words made all the difference? What the hell? What type of people had he been spending time with? He wanted to do more to help Tony. Could he do more? Didn't matter. He would do more.

Steve loosened his shoulders, trying to make as light of the situation as he could. “Just don’t knock me for saying the Brooklyn Dodgers are leagues better than the New York Yankees,” he said with a carefree grin.

Tony’s mouth dropped. “You didn’t.” The smug shit eating grin on Steve’s face grew in tandem with Tony’s smile. “You fight dirty Rogers. Saying something like that on your home turf. You know I can’t say anything against you if I don’t want to start a riot.”

“I have no idea what you mean mister,” said the towering giant of a man, with the largest most innocent looking baby blue eyes Steve could muster without looking like a fag.

Tony smiled. A real big Cheshire cat smile that wrinkled around his eyes like soft cloth. “You're evil Rogers.”

“And you’re short,” said Steve, returning the smile tenfold.

By the time the two got to the front of the breadline, they were talking as if they were long lost friends, reunited after years of separation. With a cold loaf of bread and a can of beans, it took a sharp glare of light from an alley to remind Steve that the world kept spinning despite his newfound friendship with Tony.

“Meeting someone?” asked Tony.

Steve cursed silently. Damn, Tony was sharp. “Yeah, just a friend,” he said casually.

It took a few seconds before Steve realized that he was feeling a slight heaviness in his lungs. His feet felt heavy too, and the only thing he could do to ease the feeling was to shuffle them back and forth across the cobbled street. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay. Here. He wanted to say something, anything to ease the drawn out silence, but finding one good thing out of the million of inappropriate thoughts was impossible. “That was nice,” he finally said.

“Yeah.”

Steve mentally slapped himself for sounding like an idiot. “Will I see you again sometime?”

“Maybe,” replied Tony with a shrug. “Not to dismiss Brooklyn’s hospitality, but it takes too long to get here.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you,” Steve said with a heavy sigh, trying his hardest to hide his disappointment.

The awkward silence was back in full force. Steve racked his brain for something to say. Something that wouldn’t come off as too forward or too distant. But as soon as he came up with something that would be a suitable middle ground, Tony muttered a “bye” and began to walk off, away from Steve.

Steve opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish.  The words wanted to come out, but his mind held him back like a chain. Tony was almost a block way before Steve yelled out what he struggled to say for what felt like an eternity.

“Tuesdays,” he called. Steve’s hands began to sweat when Tony stopped but didn’t turn around. “I’m usually here on Tuesdays. Sometimes on Thursdays,” he called once more.

The world froze for a second as Steve waited, neither of them moving. It felt like the ground would fall out from under him any minute. Steve’s body trembled, Did he say too much? Was he too forward?  God, why hadn’t he agreed to let Bucky set him up?

But when Tony turned around and tipped his cap to Steve. That rush of heat to his chest suddenly made it all worth it.

“Tuesdays,” Tony said with that dashing smile. “I’ll remember that.”

Steve watched with a smile as long as he could. He waited a few seconds after Tony rounded a corner before returning to the light from the alley.

“Really Bucky? Was that necessary?” asked Steve as he passed his best friend and right hand man hidden between the tight of the brick walls.

“Don’t blame me." Bucky said flippantly. "If it was a dame, I’d be one thing. Assuming you were trying for the thing. But a guy? What were you thinking?”

“Just making conversation,” said Steve with a shrug. He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t been eying Tonly more than strictly necessary as they parted ways.

“In the breadline?” asked Bucky, taking the lead.

“Gotta’ do something to keep me occupied,” Steve said as he followed Bucky back to base.

“As opposed to what? Thinking of ways to keep punks like Schmidt off our turf?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Can’t be a brilliant tactician if all I think about is work. Gotta keep a clear mind, keep my options open.”

“Not doubting that," replied Bucky in a low tone that suggested more than he said.

“Bucky!”

“What?”

“It’s not like that.”

Bucky whirled around, clearly livid with Steve’s denial. “I did not just hear you say that after you were clearing giving that guy the eye.”

“Bucky.”

“Look Steve. I don’t care. I really don’t. Maybe I don’t know how you contracted the sickness, and maybe there is no cure. I don’t care. It doesn’t really change who you are or who you have been after all these years. And if I was going to catch it, you or Wilson would have given it to me by now. But Steve, you can’t. You just can't. And not just because he’s a guy, no matter how screwed up I think that is. You gotta’ think about the family Steve. You gotta’ think of them. We’ve got territory to protect, people to feed. Maybe if he lived in the area, but he doesn’t. Besides, he looks like a normal guy. He wouldn’t understand either parts of you.”

Steve gave a forlorn look at the can, heavy in his hand, rotating it around with his thumb as if the answer was written on the simple label. His chest ached as he gave out a longing sigh. “He said there was a gal. Pepper. That’s what he called her.”

Bucky swung a comforting arm around his shoulders. “See? Guys like that only lead to heartache.”

Steve nuzzled into Bucky neck, his natural sweaty sent wrapped around Steve like a familiar blanket. It reminded him of all those nights’ years ago, when he was a skinny little thing, huddled up against Bucky for warmth against the cold winter nights. God he hated his weakness. “I hate it when you make sense,” Steve mumbled.

“Someone’s gotta’ when you’re jumping off a plane without a chute,” murmured Bucky.

Steve could only smirk. “Punk”

“Jerk,” replied Bucky knocking their heads together. “Now, what’s say we get this food to people who need it before the bread gets any staler. Or, we can find some Hydra scum to knock around. You always feel better after that.”

Steve looked up with those irresistible baby blues with an innocent face he swore was not intentional.

“Why not both?”

* * *

 

Around the corner from where Tony and Steve separated, sat a fancy black limousine for two. A stout man with a black cap sat up front and barely moved as Tony approached the car.

“How was Brooklyn?” asked Happy as Tony pulled the car door shut.

“Terrible," muttered Tony, quickly shucking the cap to the empty seat by his side. "But if someone asks me to pick one good thing about this stink hole, it wouldn’t be too hard.”

“Find something you like boss?”

Tony smiled, silently remembering how gorgeous Steve's smile was and how good it made him feel just to hear the guy laugh. His muscles hidden underneath heavily worn clothes were drool worthy, and his stature was so very climbable. Steve’s accent. Steve’s voice. Guy could be a model or a radio personality if he wasn't so set on being on the other side of the paper. It all made his heart beat just a few seconds faster than normal.

Steve Rogers of Brooklyn. Goddamn. Someone did a good job.

“Or someone,” Tony said with an appreciative smirk.

With an understanding nod, Happy started the car and pulled out from the curb.  “Where to boss?”

“Home,” replied Tony, breathing in the rich smell of leather. He reached for the change of clothes Pepper had prepared for him earlier that day. A charcoal  grey suit and red silk tie. Perfect for taking over the world. “And schedule time to come back next Tuesday. We’ve got a lot to do if we want to make the territory ours.”

“Stark Industries or the Iron Family?”

Tony smiled at the passing scenery as he slipped out of the poor man persona and slipped back into Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and small time boss.

“Why not both?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is good. Yes, I am writing this for myself, but it's always nice to know that someone else enjoyed my work.
> 
> There will be no update next week because I'm going to visit family for Golden Week. (Guess which country I'm in.)
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	2. Back to Business: Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony heads back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I'd wait another 12 hours before posting this chapter, but I'm having one of "those" kind of days. Enjoy the (for me) unusually long chapter. Don't get used to it. Next week is much shorter.
> 
> Thanks go to kuailong for the beta.

“Tony my boy, how have you been?” Obadiah Stane greeted him with his usual gravitas.

“Miss me Obie?” asked Tony with his usual air of cocky snark.

“Like the plague,” Stane replied with a smile and a familiar hug. “What have you been up to lately? I haven’t heard so much as a peep out of you since you dropped out of MIT.”

“Oh, you know, trying to keep busy. Find work. Chat up some dolls. Create weapons of mass destruction. Take over the world."

Stane laughed. “Always the joker, Tony. But we’re glad to have you back. Stark Industries hasn’t been the same since the crash. After your father-”

“Don’t start.” Tony’s smile disappeared, leaving only a cold iron clad exterior. It was still too fresh. Too soon. Despite not having the loving relationship that the newspapers thought the Stark's had, Howard's death still hurt. Not in the way the newspapers talked about. But just as deep and just as dark, if not more so. Gone was the chance of redemption and approval. All that was left was a stone cold legacy built on money, bureaucracy, and the bodies of others. Tony took that name now when Stane asked him to come back to SI. He took that name, knowing what it meant and hating what it meant for him and his future.

Stane's eyes softened. “I miss him too,” said Stane with a tired smile. He wrapped a reassuring arm around Tony’s shoulders. “But you’re here now. And having a Stark to continue the Stark name should be a boost for morale.”

“And is that what you brought me back for?" Tony asked with an unnecessary bite. "To be a glorified show pony? A replacement for dad!” Part of him knew what he was saying wasn't true, but it still hurt to have those lies floating around in the back of head.

“Of course not, Tony. No one could even come close to replacing Howard," reassured Stane. "No, I brought you here to begin your own legacy. Perfect timing, if I do say so myself. Morale is low. The fall in stock hit us hard. Had to let go of a few thousand workers. But this is your chance to step out of your father’s shadow and make a name for yourself. To do something. To make something only Tony could do. Not Howard. Make a name for yourself. Make the 'S'in SI stand for Tony Stark not Howard Stark."

Head still facing down, Tony looked up at Stane through desperate eyes. It had always been like this, as long as he had know Obie. Through the years of his childhood, through thick and thin, Obie had been the one good constant in his life. Helping him up to his potential. Being there when Howard never was. Advising him on what was best in life, but only if his ideas weren't stupid. Tony relied on him just as much as he relied on Pepper, but even Obi could come up with some very stupid ideas sometimes. “And what do you suggest I do?” he asked.

“Whatever you like,” said Stane with a smile. “Although, the investors would always appreciate something that sells.”

“They’re always looking for something that sells,” Tony scoffed. “That’s what they do.”

“Well can you blame them?” asked Stane. “With the stock as low as they are, they’ll jump at anything that makes them money. And with the number of people unemployed, Tony, this is the time to make something big. Something that will blow their socks off.”

Tony easily picked up on what Stane was implying. It wasn't that hard, all things considering. But just because he relied on Stane, it didn't make him into a 'yes man' to do Stane's bidding. “A weapon? Obie, we’ve been out of the Great War for more than ten years.”

“And frankly we’re due for another,” insisted Stane. “Do you not see the revolution in Russia? The unrest and animosity between Germany, France, and England? I may not enjoy seeing the body count in the daily paper, but we are warmongers, Tony. And it’s our duty as American citizens to supply our troops with what they need before they need it.”

There it was again, just like good old dad, pulling out the nationalists card to make their job a little easier. Didn't matter that the Great War was behind them and world peace was on the horizon. There would always be an excuse to make and sell weapons. As long as the world spun and people fought, people would need weapons to fight for their right to survive. And as much as it pained him at this stage in his life, as much as he didn't want to do it (not now, not yet), it was what was required of him. It's what the company needed. And Tony was needed here. Well, that and the other reason. But Obie didn't need to know that.

“Don’t worry," Tony said with reassuring smile. "I’ll make you proud Obie.”

“Counting on it.”

“I’ll need a place to work eventually," mused Tony as they boarded the elevator to the top floors of SI. "Some place to stretch my legs and keep all hours of the night. Would it bother you too much if I use your office? I remember loving the view as a kid."

Stane chuckled at the idea. “If I remember what you were like as a little brat, I think my office might be too small for you. But don’t worry. It’s all taken care of.”

* * *

R&D took up an entire floor of Stark Industries. As a child, Tony loved to spend his extra hours there marveling at the innovation that sprung from the floor of R&D. So many lights flashing. So many things to go boom. So much mystery and potential. Just so much everything.

But as an adult, he hated it. Too much stupidity and not enough space to contain it all. Too many idiots with minds too small, and ambitions too big crammed together in one room. It made for too many cooks in the kitchen. Even standing outside the glass door, watching all the rats run around trying to get the cheese, made Tony's head hurt. A small part of him wanted to storm in and help the sad sods. The other part wanted to take a flamethrower to the place and torch the entire thing to the ground, workers and all. Thank god Obadiah had reserved half of the top floor just for him.

“We have all the newest toys, and some that haven’t reached the market," said Stane, opening a large mahogany door to an even larger room. "If you need anything, just ask.”

The room was phenomenal. Multiple workstation for various types of projects were scattered about the open floor. Red metal chests stood by each station like tin soldiers, most likely filled with odds and ends that would assist in projects related to whatever station they stood guard over. With a quick look, Tony could guess exactly what stations were designated for what part of his work. A station for welding. A station for drafting. A station for wood and metal prototypes. A station for testing said prototypes. A very large station dedicated just to ammunition. (Obie was being in no way subtly about the potential weapons contract.) A station dedicated to automotive parts. And small icebox and kitchen equipped with late night necessities such as a coffee maker and blender. Tony couldn't wait to fuck it all up.

“It’s a little small, but it'll do for now,” he said, taking in the place. Draping his jacket on the back of one of the many chairs in the room, Tony proceeded to make himself comfortable in his new workshop. "Need to move some of the toolboxes around for one. And I need my gramophone. My records too. Pepper will be the one handling the move. And anything else that I’d rather not deal with. Speaking of which, where is she?”

“Right where you need me Mr. Stark,” said Pepper, as she disembarked from the elevator.

“Pepper!” Tony greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Love of my life. Please save me from the boring pleasantries that is meeting and greeting every soul in the company.”

“Your secretary?” Stane’s eyebrow was raised all the way up to his nonexistent hairline.

“My assistant,’ replied Tony. “My paper pusher. My hands and legs when they aren’t available because I’m busy being a genius. My ‘get stuff done’ lady when I’m too busy otherwise.”

“So, your secretary?” Stane repeated.

God Tony hated that word. Pepper was so much more that that, not that he would ever say it aloud. “Yes?”

“What happened to Ms. Summers?”

“Engaged and therefore of no interest to me," he said, brushing her off like a piece of lint on his suit. "Besides, Pepper has been at my side for years. She knows all my little quirks.”

“Like what you would like for lunch Mr. Stark?” she asked. Perfect save as always.

“Yes please!” Tony’s face lit up as he pulled up a seat. “Talk deli to me Pep. What local New York specials are we getting today?”

Stane shook his head in disbelief. “Go ahead and get settled in Tony. I’ll tell Ms. Summers when the board meeting is. They’ll want to meet you eventually.”

“And I told you, Miss Potts will be replacing Ms. Summers, so don’t even bother.”

“Goodbye Tony,” Stane said, walking out in an amused huff.

As soon as the door closed behind Stane, Tony’s posture shifted. He sat up straighter. And the playful glint in his eyes disappeared. He slicked back his hair with one hand before loosening his red tie. “Talk to me Pep. Any bugs in the system?”

“None so far, and Clint double checked the lab and your housing just in case.”

“Well, wherever high loft apartment or luxury house Obie put me, I want to be out of there as soon as you can. Nothing against the guy, but he can’t decorate and his choice of location sucks.”

“Duly noted Mr. Stark. But it might take time to find housing that fits your requirements.”

“With what we’re doing, I’d rather do everything I can to keep Obie out of this. He’s like a second father to me and he doesn’t deserve to be on the other end of any fall out for the shit we’re getting into. Do whatever you can to make sure he’s not in the line of fire.”

"Understood Mr. Stark."

Something was eating her, Tony could tell by the way her fingers fiddled with a misplaced pencil. After giving her a few seconds of unbearable silence, she finally broke.

“Are you sure this will work?” asked Pepper. “I haven’t heard a single story of a well established family moving to a different city, let alone a different state, and reestablishing themselves successfully.”

“Then we’ll be the first," Tony stated, as if just saying it made it happen.

She had that look on her face again. The one that looked like all the energy had been drained from her body, and not in the post sex type of way. “Tony-”

“Pepper, I’m not going back," he said putting his foot down. How many times did they have to have this conversation? "Blood for blood. That’s how it works. You come after the boss of the Iron Family with his own weapon, don’t expect to get away with it. What happened to me, with the shrapnel bomb, I’m damn lucky to still be walking around let alone be alive. Yinsen and Bruce patched me up, helped me recover enough to build the arc reactor, but there are people who weren’t as lucky as me. I saw them Pep. I saw their pain. I watched them die and there was nothing I could do about it.”

“I don’t care about the business. We always have Malibu to support us if things go south. Besides, this isn’t about money. This is about revenge, pure and simple. We have an opportunity that not many other have. We can stop the weapons leak at the source. We can track down the bastards that order the hit on me, and we can end it before they try again. That's it. That's the mission. Stop the leak before someone else gets hurt. What we make is for the battlefield. Nowhere else. I don't know if you realize, but my name is on the line. And I'll be damned it I let someone ruin it while I stand by the sidelines twiddling my thumbs like some idiot.  We stop it here and now, and make damn sure that it doesn't happen again. Do I make myself clear?”

She looked up into his eyes, her piercing gaze dissecting his soul. They had moved so close during his rant. He could feel her shallow, even breath on his face. He could see the light peppering of freckles on her face. The flecks of color in her eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. “You’re an idiot and this is a terrible idea,” she said.

Tony smiled. “But you love me anyway.”

Her breath hesitated before she spoke again. “But not in the way you want me to," she said, pulling away from his grasp.

“Pep-”

“Tony, we tried. We failed. I’m with Happy now, but I’m not going to leave you. If anything, you need me more than ever for this stupid plan of your to work. But we’re not going to be like that Tony. Not again. I can’t do that again. You’re asking for something I can’t give, and I don’t want that to come between us. I know it’s rough right now, and it might be rough for a long time, but I’ll be here for you until the end.”

Tony understood that. Understood why she had to leave. Why they couldn’t be together anymore. It didn't stop the hurt though. Didn’t stop the guilt when he caught himself looking at someone else. Most likely, it would never stop, just fade to hurt less. “Couldn’t leave even if you wanted,” he said, with a pained smile. “I sign your checks.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I sign my own check.”

“But I’m irresistible,” he said, gravitating toward her side.

“You’re incorrigible Tony, though I doubt you even know that it means,” she responded, not bothering to move away from his approach.

“How much you want to bet that I do?”

“How does a week of actually showing up to work on time sound?” she said with a cocky smile.

A loud ‘ah hem’ broke the two apart. “Are you done flirting yet?”

“Barton. I thought you were surveying,” Tony was suddenly conscious of the location of his hand on his assistant’s ass. When did that get there?

“I was. I finished,” he stated bluntly. “I thought you two broke up months ago.”

“We did,” they said in unison.

Clint shrugged, his shoulder against the threshold of the door. “Hey, whatever floats your boat boss.”

“Don’t even start with me Barton. I know where you live,” Tony scolded playfully. He wasn’t in the mood for another talk about ‘the birds and the bees and other interesting things a duo could do’ anytime soon.

“As if you’re loud ass could sneak up on me, let alone land a hit," he said, sauntering in like he owned the place.

“One of these days Hawkeye, I will get the drop on you." It was an empty threat and both of them knew it.

“Considering you didn’t even notice me while you were eyeing that blond hunk in the breadline, I highly doubt that," he huffed.

“Tony?”

“What?” asked Tony, very aware now of the eyes on him and the heat racing up to his cheeks. “I was just making casual conversation.”

“Didn’t look like that to me,” smirked Clint.

Did he see? Did he notice? There was no way he could have. Even Tony was a wasn’t sure if it actually happened. Unless it did. Steve wasn’t the most subtle person in the world. With that sun kissed hair, and that gorgeous shoulder to waist ratio. God, artists would have a field day over his David like figure. And his smile with those sea blue eyes, Steve could make any person melt into a pile of goo.

Clint wasn’t given the codename “Hawkeye” for nothing. And that’s exactly what it was, nothing. Tony just had to stick to it. “Barton, now would be a good time to shut up,” warned Tony. ‘Smooth Stark. Don’t say anything that could be misinterpreted. Why not give them another reason to leave you high and dry.’

“What did it look like?” asked Pepper, getting that curious glint in her eyes.

“Barton. Don’t you dare.”

Clint smiled as he slid into the chair at one of the workstations. He was baiting Tony and they both knew it. “Looked like our boss was looking for a bit of fun on the wild side.”

Tony balled his fist against one of the workbenches. “That’s it! I was planning on making you a new bow, but since you said that-”

“Oh come on boss,” said Clint, casually putting his feet up on the table. “No hard feelings here. Everyone is glad that you’re moving on.”

Oh dear god. “Everyone? You told everyone?”

Clint smirked. “Only the important ones.”

Tony groaned as he plopped down next to a table and buried his head in his arms. That’s it. He was ruined. Leave it to Barton and his big mouth to make a whole lot of nothing out of a little event. Not being het was fine in private (Tony and his lieutenants grew up in the 20s where freedoms of all kinds were welcome. Hell, Tony encouraged any show regardless of type or orientation as long as all parties were of sound age and consent). But in the cutthroat business world, it was hide or die. For the most part, Tony could care less what the media or other people thought of his "unconventional hobbies." But with Obie in the mix, that changed everything.

He couldn’t have this sullied part of him paraded around like a prized cow. Not here. Not now. If his true colors were revealed the company would be taken away from him for good. Probably auctioned up at a ridiculously low price. His people would be out of a job, forced to hit the streets in horrid economic conditions. A high percentage would fall to suicide or the bottom of a bottle. That didn’t even take into account the plan.

The plan. The plan would be outright ruined. Whoever was smuggling weapons onto the streets would have a heyday with the amount of suddenly legal and valuable property curtesy of one Anthony Stark “outed fairy”. Forget the leak. Losing the company would break open the damn. His name would be more than ruined, it would be ventilated and throw to the bottom of the Hudson with only a pair of cement shoes for comfort.

Oh god.

What would Obie think?

Everyone else close to him, their opinions didn’t matter (Tony would like it if they did approve. He really would. That would be super swell. But, reality was you can’t come out without stepping on a few toes). But Obie...

In the back of his head, he registered Pepper giving a stern whispering to Clint before a warm hand grazed his shoulder. “Tony,” Pepper said in that warm and wonderful voice that made him feel like everything would be okay. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy that you’re trying to move on.”

Tony peaked out from beneath his arms like a child hiding from his parents. Not a single hint of anger or disgust in their eyes. If anything, Clint even looked slightly guilty. It made his heart melt a little. Only a little. “I still like girls Pep,” he mumbled.

Pepper smiled. “Oh I know you do. I don’t doubt it considering all the unsavory memories I have of kicking your late night houseguests out.”

Tony uncurled from his spot.

“For what it’s worth,” said Clint, conveniently examining the walls with great interest. “By everyone I just meant Rhodey, Jarvis, and you two. Just because I act stupid doesn’t mean I really am.” And that was as close to an apology as Tony would get. And he was fine with that.

He could trust his lieutenants and butler with just about anything. Obie, well, Obie’s approval meant more to him than anything. He couldn’t find out that Tony was bi. Or that he was a mob boss. Or that he lost his virginity at the age of 13 while under the influence of four different types of narcotics. Important things like that.

“So,” said Tony, clearing his throat from the conversation he would rather not have. “I assume you have another reason to be here aside from questioning my sexuality.”

“Nah, I just like to see you panic like a scared chicken,” Clint said with a mischievous wink. “Just reporting back from recon. Most of the good parts of town are taken, but there are some small time street gangs in the Lower East Side that we can easily take out. Not optimal for business, but we can make it work if we advertise right.”

“That being said, the Gandor Family said they’d be willing to lease us some of their turf, rent and interest added on of course, until we get accustomed to the Big Apple. Said something about getting off the map as quiet as possible. Nothing wrong with the turn far as I can tell. Bleeding us dry for rent might cause some issues if we stay for the long haul. And, for what it’s worth, Keith trusts us, so that means something.”

“Yeah, rather not take that option if we have to,” Tony considered aloud. “What about arms Pep? What are we looking at?”

Pepper took a preparatory breath. This was not going to be good. “Overall it doesn’t look that bad. A few pieces here. A few pieces there. But Tony, this has been going on for years. And the records are horrendous. It took me all morning just to figure out where to begin.”

“Then put Jarvis on what you can’t handle and let me run our companies. I can handle being a big boy for a few weeks.”

Pepper looked exasperated. “Tony, this might take more than a few weeks."

“Then I’ll deal with it when we get to it," said a stubborn Tony. From here on out, he needed to be strong. No distractions. No running away. No dip worthy men sending him off course. This was his reality now. All that was theory was becoming fact. Whatever needed to be done to reach his goal, whatever responsibility he had to take on, whatever blood had to be spilt on him or spilt by his hand, Tony needed to be ready for that.

"Barton, you and Rhodey start marking up territory. I want to see our name in the paper when I wake up tomorrow.”

“We going with the Gandor turf?” asked Clint.

“No, we need to make our own. I want to be able to go and come whenever, how ever I please. Start with the few shops you scouted out, but if you see anything better, take it. No questions asked. And knock over a few joints in other areas too while you're at it. Don’t want the coppers pinning us down to early. We can get our own turf just fine while still remaining in the Gandor’s graces.”

“You gonna let me run free on the how?" asked Clint, fingering a hidden blade along the length of his thigh.

"You know the rules Hawkeye. Stick to them," said Tony absentmindedly. Clint's work was always good. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he knew how to get the job done quickly and efficiently. Provide you didn't mind an army of arrows sticking out of a body as a calling card. After their first hit with Hawkeye in tow, it never bothered Tony. Hawkeye did his job and he did it well. That was all that mattered. But considering the weapons of choice from his other lieutenants, never let it be said that the Iron Family was subtle. Plus, Tony couldn't be bother to care about that right now. Too many things to think about.

"You got it boss," said Clint, almost skipping out of the room. Most likely, he was creating a shopping list of where to pick up necessary supplies.

“And me?” asked Pepper.

“You and Jarvis follow up on the missing weapons," Tony said, rolling up his sleeves as far as they could go in today's fashion. "Dig as far as you can go, and then dig some more. I want to know anything that strikes you as odd. I’ll need the distractions.”

“Is that code for ‘I’m going to hid in my lab now. Please don’t bother me unless it’s with more coffee?’”

“Did I mention that I was making presents for everyone and that you’re in charge of everything I don't want until I get back?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. “First time you did that, I thought you were giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. Now, I just see it as you being lazy.”

“Love you Pep," Tony said, absorbing himself into the nooks and crannies of his new work space.

“Love you too Tony. Though I sometimes forget why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony, why do you have to be a little shit and have over 4,000 words in MORE THAN ONE CHAPTER!?
> 
> Third chapter will be posted in two weeks and then we'll get back to our regularly scheduled program. After adjusting the outline for this story, it looks like the entire thing will be about 15 chapters.
> 
> ... Why the fuck do you keep growing you little shit!
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know if you have any questions or feedback. Not a crap week. Just exhausting. 
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	3. Back to Business: Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to kuailong for the beta. It was great talking to you in person!

Theirs was a little room in the back of a red brick warehouse. There was absolutely no circulation during the summer months, and the free hanging lights swung back and forth in the spring, summer, fall, and winter air that snaked through the cracks and openings in the poorly constructed windows. The boys had tried to make it their own adding posters, pictures, and miscellaneous souvenirs for various fights up in the wall, but Steve would freely admit the place was crap in quality and sad if you stayed more than the span of their weekly meetings (not they they met only that one time. It was just the one time a week that meetings were "official"). The lone light above the room highlighted the lack of furniture, easily making it feel vast and empty if it wasn't for the empty crates and pallets stacked in a disorganized manner along the walls.

For the moment, Steve was using a combination of six boxes and a pallet as a makeshift seat and table. Actually, all the Brooklyn Boys used the empty crates as unofficial seats. During rum runs, the crates were removed from the room, leaving it bare until the boys returned with the empty crates to use, once again, for sitting spots until they were needed once again. Occasionally, they ended up short a crate if one of them ran into trouble or caused trouble on the way back.

Steve loved the fact that the room was always changing with the makeshift setup. Some weeks, the wall was hidden by a wall of wood, while other weeks Bucky would find it entertaining to make himself a throne with the empty boxes. Thor often made forts and wasn't that one hell of a month when they tried to conduct meetings. It wasn't a perfect setup, but it worked well enough for their mixed family .

A single wooden door separated their small storage/meeting room from the rest of the large warehouse, and while they couldn't use it during working hours, at night it was theirs to roam freely about. They could easily have meetings in a larger space and store whatever they needs without any questions. As long as they didn't do anything too crazy, rent was reasonable and the owner was appeasing to their activities. It was close enough to their apartment that late night outings didn't cause much of a stir, but far enough that they had reason to play dumb if anything happened. Large enough to hide vehicles for rum runs, but inconspicuous enough that a few extra cars weren't noticed or missed.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Steve didn't bother looking  up from his sketch book. He was too busy trying to get the shape of the unknown face just right. "Anything to report solider?" He asked.

"Aw, not even a welcome home kiss?" teased Bucky.

Steve smiled behind his sketch pad. "Thor?"

"Happy to oblige Captain," replied a beefy blond, placing both hands on Bucky's cheeks and pulling him into a full on kiss.

Even if Thor was a fob (fresh off the boat immigrant) he knew some American mannerisms. Enough to know that kissing another man like that was not appropriate. But, being boisterous and lovable Thor, he picked and choose what rules to follow. Partly because he was basically a big blond puppy dog that loved to love others in a very skinship sort of fashion. Mostly because people didn't expect him to know any better and just went along with the charade. And a little bit was because it pissed off Bucky. But Bucky's reaction made the grand gestures of familiarity all the more enjoyable, so who could blame them.

"Dammit Donald! I thought I told Jane to talk to you about this," Bucky said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We did," said Thor with his thousand watt smile. " But Lady Jane said Captain's orders came first before any social norm."

Steve smiled silently. Good old Jane Foster playing along with their antics. They were lucky such a pretty doll like her fit in so well with their little disaster of a family.

"Status report," he reminded his crew.

"Nothing unexpected on the perimeter," reported Bucky. " Couple vultures on the west side, but nothing knocking a few heads in didn't fix."

"And the juice?" he asked, securing the pad in a safe place for later.

"Jane said the next batch of Odin's Beer should be ready by week's end, but the Asgardian Mead will need until mid week of next before it is ready for consumption."

"And the orders? We have enough to make a profit?"

"If our guys pay us our due, yeah, we got enough," reported Sam as he walked into the back room. "Double checked the number this morning and each bottle has a name on it. Don't worry Steve, none of the work will be going to waste."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. As much as hated breaking the rules set by the government, in this case the rules were wrong. The way the government was regulating alcohol wasn't leading to reform. If anything, it had lead to the exact opposite. Current legalization led to people sneaking out to dangerous and unsavory that had once been beautiful, safe, legal locations. Speakeasy ran the risk of being shut down for running an operation that had been legal not ten years ago. Of course people might say the roaring twenties was neither here nor there, but some freedoms once tasted were hard to forget.

Look at Steve as a prime example, age of 16 and ready to come out, only to be scared off by radical conservative expectations and legalization. Ended up joining the service for a few years to help out the family back home. But when the stock market crashed and a wave of polio swept through his neighborhood, Steve was the first to quit the force to fight the good fight on the home front. He didn't make the money like he did in the force, in fact he didn't make any money at all. So he turned to bootleg, the lesser of evils, as a service to others and a way to provide for himself. In his defense, drugs, prostitutes, and firearms would make his late mother faint faster than bootleg ever would.

Making bootleg to help others make ends meet, taking only a small portion to support themselves and run their operation. It wasn't the optimal situation, but the depression was hard on everybody. Steve and his crew were just trying to make the best of a bad economic time.

"All efforts going to a good cause. That's what I like to hear," said Steve.

"Might also want to put a few extra eyes on the street and in the air if we want to have a clean run. Looks like we got some new neighbors moving in." Sam flashed a copy of the morning rag.

"Is it bad?"

"What do you think Barnes? How bad do you have to be to make it on the front page of the morning paper?"

Bucky swore under his breath as he grabbed the morning paper.

"What do they say about our good neighbors?" asked Thor, his voice was boisterous as always, but the glow in his smile revealed the thick sarcasm behind his words.

"Nothing much," Sam admitted. "But I think someone knows more than they're letting on. According to SHIELD’s black and white, a few shops got renovated between last night and this morning. Lots of holes, empty casings, and spilled goods. What they forgot to mentions the fact that theses shops are fronts for small time solicitors." Solicitors meaning less than legal trading of goods.

"Anyone we know?" asked Steve with a worried frown.

Sam shook his head. "Keeping my ear to the ground, but nothing so far. Who ever did this wanted to be noticed, but for some reason, they ain't talking."

"Guess we're assuming someone's crouching in on turf," muttered Bucky as he worked through the words on the page. "Don't say nothin about no Nazi symbol."

"Whatever their reason, that's none of our concern," said Steve, trying to bring back the group's focus. He could easily see how information about the "new kids in town" could cause panic in the group if the mulled over long enough. Of all things Steve needed in his life, an out of controlled distraction was the last thing he needed. Things were finally coming to a head and he didn't need an extra player stepping into the mix when it wasn't necessary or relevant.

"Unless they give us reason to worry, best to keep doing what we've been doing and keep our heads down. If Sam's info is as reliable as he says it is,"

"And it always is," added a smug Sam.

"Then they'll pass right over us. No point in a big bad groups attacking small fry like us."

Steve noticed how his group nodded in hesitant agreement.

"Sometimes I hate being small fry," grumbled Bucky.

Steve gave him the best 'I'm getting tired of your bull shit, so just shut your face,' look that he could muster. "Winter Soldier, I need an increase in security at all times. Of our turf, collateral, and all other things that anyone might be interested in."

"Fine," grumbled Bucky. As much as Bucky bitched and moaned, Steve knew Bucky was always there to back him up with whatever was necessary.

"Thor, we need to speed up the processing of the prohibition. Talk to Jane and see what you can do to make things go faster."

"It shall be done!"

Steve nodded his approval. "Sam, with me. Winter Soldier, Thor, you have your assignments. Get to work."

With a brusque nod they split ways, leaving only Steve and Sam in the lonely room.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh as soon as the others were out of earshot. "Think they'll come this way?" asked Steve. Theories and strategies were already forming in his head. With all the moving parts in his life, new competition was really not something he wanted in his life right now.

"Don't know," admitted Sam. " But here's what I figure, this isn't some new group trying something big to make their mark. All that damage in one night, someone's gotta be rolling in green for all the manpower and munitions required for the job."

"Any hunches you can give me Falcon? Origin? Name?" asked Steve, trying his best to hide his worrying.

Sam shrugged. "Sorry Cap. Nothing reliable in the woodworks as of yet. But I'll tell you what little rumor I hear. There's a name being passed around in the back alleys and dark corners of rooms. The Iron Family."

Iron Family. Steve committed the dreadful name to memory. "Anyone got intel on that name?"

Sam's mouth twitched downward. Definitely a "no" then.

"Come on Sam. You gotta give me something to work with. I know the black community is crazy for gossip, and you're the best informant I got. You gotta give me something else to go on. A hunch? A guess?"

Sam only blew out a harsh stream of air, equally exhausted as the Cap. " I don't know what to tell you that you haven't thought of already. Keep your head down? Like I said, I don't think these guys mess around with small time."

Something was off. Steve could tell. It wasn't the feeling that Sam knew more. Sam gave Steve all he got. He always did. But that wasn't what was off. There was something more going on.

"You're not telling me everything," said Steve. Sam's eye widened in surprise. Yup, definitely more. Steve watched quietly as his wingman closed off from him, crossing his arms and stealing his mouth with a defiant line. Was it really that important that Steve didn't know? Was it really worth the secretary to keep Steve in the dark?

"Lay it on me Sam," he said, trying again. "I'm the boss here. You know I gotta know no matter what."

The wrinkles in Sam's brow deepened, but Steve saw hope when Sam ruffled his short dark curls with his fingers, as if doing so would loosen the right answers, or his tongue. "One guy," he finally said. "One guy, five shops, and a Tommy in each hand. That's the word from the rumor mill."

Steve feel his stomach drop down to the floor. "Holy shit," he gasped, staggering back.

"Yeah, not your average Joe, that's for sure."

Steve began to panic. "We gotta know what we're dealing with here Falcon."

"And we will Steve," reassured Sam. "But we gotta do it quite like. Hands like those don't hesitate for little guys like us."

Steve ran a hand through the blond of his hair. "Do you think it would be too much to call back the Black Widow."

"Honestly, for a job like this, I don't even think the Black Widow could stand a chance again guys like this. For a job like this, we'll need everyone on board."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this week. Next one will be longer. Because Tony is a little shit that has too much to say. ... Fuck you too Tony.
> 
> If you have any speculations or questions, please comment. I need to know if I need to drop more hints.
> 
> Chapter 4 and 5 need some minor edits, chapters 6-7 are in the major editing process, and chapter 8 is in draft form. Basically, your feedback can influence parts of the story. Just btw.
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Update 5/31/15: Active writing and editing will be put on hold until further notice. Chapter 4 and 5 will be posted on schedule (unless I hear requests otherwise). I'm experiencing a lot of stress about an upcoming test as well as work, and it's causing me stomach pains. I've already gotten it checked out and it's not ulcers, but I'm trying to reduce stress, and this is one of the things causing me stress. Hopefully I can resume writing sooner than later. Hope you guys enjoy the next two chapters.


	4. Shells on the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times are a changin' as a silver sax be waillin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to kuailong for the beta.

As much pomp and circumstance Tony put on about loving the spotlight, there was nothing Tony loved better than tinkering away alone in his lab. The smell of smoke and melting metal, coupled with loud jazz bouncing of the stone cold walls, nothing could make Tony feel any closer to home.

That’s how Obie found him, tangled up in a knotted mess of wires, loud and crazy jazz bellowing out of his gramophone. Admist the mess, Tony could faintly hear Obie trying to be yell over the loud music. Tony ignored him. He had gotten really good at it over the years. The unconventional jazz helped with that too.

The cool cats called it [bebop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09BB1pci8_o). Pepper called it was mindless noise. Rhodey, who absolutely loved jazz, called it cats on a keyboard. “Aint’ no way that stuff could be popular,” he once told Tony. But Tony loved it. Musical chaos Tony often called it. It had just enough of a beat that it didn’t dissolve into discord and just enough crazy that it pissed everyone else right the fuck off.

“What the hell are you trying to do?” asked Stane, removing the needle off the record before removing a hand from his ear.

“Uh, the sign says ‘do not disturb genius,’ and the music is clearly part of my genius,” said Tony, as he looked around the tangle of wires for the magical one to unravel them all.

“Tony,” Stane let out an exasperated sigh that Tony was all too familiar with. “It’s crap.”

“I happen to like it.”

“Why can’t you listen to white jazz like other people your age? Like Jack Tegarden, Bix Biederbecke, or even the Original Dixieland Jazz Band?”

Did Tony have to list the reasons in order for Obie? Well, for one, discriminating between white and colored music left a whole lot of empty space that just wasn’t necessary. Why segregate when the colored music was just as good as white music? Two, colored music was ten times better than white music. Colored music was full of soul and passion, something that popular white artists lacked. Three, black music was unashamedly loud and over the top. Just how Tony liked his music.

But he didn’t say any of that. Obie didn’t need to know about that part of him. Just like he didn’t need to know about the ever expanding list of ‘things Obie doesn’t need to know.’ He settled on, “What do you want Obie?” as he tugged at a few loose wires.

“I want an update. Something I can present to the board.”

Really? This again? “No, you want a fully functional weapon in the little more than a week  that I’ve been here,” replied Tony, sliding out from under the mess. He felt pissed and a little betrayed as he set his tools down on one of the workbenches. “Is that what I am to you Obie? A weapons factory? I’m hurt. I thought we were past the one-night stands with my guns and into romantic walks on the beach.”

“Tony.” The undertone of Stane’s warning held more meeting than the single word.

“I know Obie, we’re a weapons company, but how many times do I have to tell you we aren’t at war? There’s no rush.”

“Just because we’re not at war doesn’t mean the needs for weapons goes away. I told you before, Russia is undergoing a revolution as we speak. They need weapons, Tony. I’ve been contacted by five different factions within the past month about new contracts. And with that Hitler guy as the head of Germany and the Nazi party, it’s possible that all of Europe might got to war again in the next few years. We’re talking about global opportunities here Tony, not just domestic.”

In frustration, Tony threw down his pair of wire cutters and plopped down in an empty chair. Why didn’t Obie understand? Why didn’t anybody understand? Why couldn’t the world just put its revolutions and political uprisings on hold until he figured everything out!

Stane pulled up a seat next to him. He ran a caring hand across Tony’s back. It was warm, and it felt so familiar. “Tony, I know you’ve got something cooking in that brain of yours, but you gotta tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you keep me out like this.”

Tony let out a tired sigh and rubbed his face. “That’s the thing Obie,” he said, pushing out of the chair and pacing across the room. His hands flew around his head in increasing frustration.

“I’ve got all these ideas running around in my head, but technology is not far enough along to accommodate me, and my hands aren’t nearly fast enough to accurately write down everything that goes on up there. Do you even understand what that’s like Obie? To want to create something only to realize you don’t have the tech to go from point A to point B? It’s aggravating! I have all the resources I could ever what, unlimited funding, but no matter what I try, I don’t have what I need to get this thing up to 500 horsepower without burning out!” he emphasized throwing a wrench against the wall.

The resulting clatter of the metal falling was ear shattering. The bits of the wall crumbling on top of it all was cringe worthy. Tony’s breath was short and sporadic.  His eyes were wide and wild from the rant. He tried to calm himself by leaning on a metal table, but the tremors from his body made the table shudder under his weight. Tony tried to breathe. He tried to take deep calming breath like Bruce had taught him, but it was useless. His lungs felt small and tight. The unnatural weight in his chest felt like it was pushing in all the wrong places. He needed to calm down. He needed air. Why wouldn’t his body accept the air?

A warm hand wrapped around his shoulders, and Tony was five years old again. “I know it’s been a long time since you made something for someone else,” Stane said in a gentle voice that could rock Tony to sleep. “But give it a little time Tony. You’ll get it eventually. Just like riding a bicycle.”

A breath of air finally reached his brain. The parts were beginning to move again. The cogs in his brain were slowly ticking away.“Never ridden a bicycle,” mumbled Tony

“But you know what I mean,” replied Obie with a smile. “Relax. Read a book. Take a walk.” Stane took a whiff of Tony’s hair and made a face. “Maybe take a shower too. When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

“Uh…” His brain supplied no answer.

“Thirty two hours ago,” replied Pepper, walking into the lab. “And that’s not even close to the record.”

“Pepper!” Tony could hug her right now.

“Chicken sandwich, hold the mayo,” she said, shoving a white wrapped package into Tony’s hands. “Eat.”

“I’m fine Pep. Promise.”

“I’ll believe it after that sandwich is gone”

“Killing me here Pep,” he sang as he unwrapped the fresh morsel.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Rescuing you from dying, more like.”

“Ms. Potts,” Stane greeted Pepper with a smile.

“Mr. Stane”

“You settling in well?”

“Yes sir.”

“I heard a rumor that you’re engaged to Mr. Hogan.” Tony’s ears perked. Why hadn’t he heard that rumor? More curiously, why did the rumor exist when he didn’t start it?

Pepper took the question in stride. “Nothing official yet, but I’m hoping soon.”

Hello, surprise from Pepper. What are you doing here? You were not part of the plan.

Stane’s grin was wide as a across his taught face. “Well, I expect to see a wedding invitation in my mailbox within the next few months.”

“I’ll be sure you get one Mr. Stane,” said Pepper with a courteous smile.

And because Stane was an asshole, a few seconds later he asked, “How many kids is Happy thinking about? Five? Six?”

Tony had heard enough. “Obie, stop harassing my PA,” Tony warned through a bite of tomato and meat.

“I’m not harassing,” Stane looked very offended. “I’m just asking about the future. Once she gets married, she’s not going to stick around much longer.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Pep, thinking of quitting, doll face?”

“To be fair, I ask myself that every morning before work.”

“Dully noted,” Tony replied before shuffling around some projects with a free hand. He was going to get this figured out even if it killed him.

“Tony,” Stane ruined the fun. As usual. “I hate to be a busy body, but we need something to show the board. We’re meeting with them this afternoon, remember? A prototype, a model, a sketching on a napkin. Anything you can give them.”

Ignorable. He rustled through the papers louder pretending to look busy.

“Speaking of meetings,” interrupted Pepper. “A business friend from Boston came in unexpectedly and has requested lunch with you.”

Tony stopped shuffling through papers. That bit was not ignorable. “Friends” droping in “unexpectedly” was never a good thing in their line of work. And Tony wasn’t thinking about his work at Stark Industires.

“Unexpected?” he confirmed.

“Unexpected.”

“Just dropped in?”

“From Boston.”

Damn, that wasn’t good.

“Well, there you have it Obie,” Tony said, spinning around in his chair. “As much as I am dying to deal with the board, I’m off for lunch with a friend. Wheeling and dealing, that sort of thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

He needed to get out of the lab, and he needed to get out now. If what Pepper said was true, Tony didn’t even want to think about it. He could pratically hear the gunfire and pings of empty shells falling to the ground.

“Really Tony? You’re leaving me high and dry again?”

Tony sighed. God he hated being responsible. He really didn’t want to release it. The thing wasn’t even close to being ready, but everything else was in the ‘Obie doesn’t need to know’ file, so that left little to use as a distraction. “I don’t have a sample, but I can give you a copy of the plans,” he said, handing over a thick roll of drafting paper.

Stane unrolled the paper. His face twisted in confusion. “What’s this?” Ah, he had found the mess of numbers and computations. Not even a fraction of crazy compared to the preliminary diagrams and layouts.

“A helper robot,” Tony replied absentmindedly, gathering the necessary things for an afternoon out. “Or, more of a helper hand. Can’t decide if it’s going to be autonomous or dependent, but either way, problems. Still in the ’tech that needs to catch up to my genius before I can make it into reality’ stage. But it should be confusing enough and look impressive enough to keep the board off our back for a bit.”

Stane shook his head. “Sometimes I can’t tell if you’re really a genius or just fucking with us,” he muttered. “But it’ll work for the meeting. I’ll do what I can to keep them off our backs.”

“Just confuse them enough to buy me some more time. I don’t want their expectations too high when I actually knock their socks off with my genius,” Tony said, heading for the door.

“Don’t take too long. Remember, we’re having dinner with Hammer Industries at the Plaza. And the discussion for the military contracts are coming up soon.”

“Then I will do my absolute best to forget,” he said with a wave over his shoulder as he and Pepper walked out the lab and to the elevator.

As the doors secured around them and the metal box descended, Tony switched over to work mode. No more fake smiles. No more hidden agenda. A stright back, squred shoulders, and cold heart at the ready. The plans swarming around in his head flipped over, and he began doing a quick mental check of all the components necessary for their transofrmation. “Pepper? What’s the status on the suit?”

Her eyes were on the flashing lights as they moved down toward the basement level. “Your things are already prepared and in the car.”

“And your things?”

“Already taken care of,” she replied with a smirk. “Just promise not to peak while I change.”

“I’ve seen worse,” he said, as they walked out to a familiar black limo. “You’re engaged?” he asked, holding the door open for Pepper.

“No.” He could hear Pepper rolling her eyes as she slipped into the car.

“Good. I would have forgotten to get you a present.”

“Don’t worry, I would have gotten it for you.”

“Would it have been thoughtful?”

“Oh yes. Happy and I would be very impressed by your thoughtfulness.”

“Good for me. Make it happen when you actually get engaged.”

“Of course Mr. Stark.”

* * *

 

A stout chauffuer pulled up to the curb of a rundown shop in the Lower Eastside. It was a nice little shop with a now beat up black door and a Victorian style window with the glass shot out to the right. But, if asked, the neighbors would say the shop had seen better days. Last Tuesday was a particularly good day for the shop. It was the day before the shop and all its occupants and product were ventilated by a tall creature that called itself War Machine.

With a name like War Machine, the local patrons and residents had paid particular attention to stay away from the “Under Construction” signs that hung from the window. Good thing too, considering there was a second hit on the same location just over a week later.

Not minding the fresh pools of red and the scattered bodies on the road, the chauffeur stepped out of the black limo and straightened his uniform and black mask. In a practiced motion, he got out and opened the curb door for his valued employer. The two forms that stepped out the vehicle stuck out like a straight-laced copper in a juice joint. The white suit, red dress shirt, and white tie the woman wore was almost subtle compared to her male counterpart. He captured the attention of every onlooker with his stark red three piece suit and gold pocket square. Unlike usual Mafioso, the man wore no tie. Instead, a bright blue light shown like a rising sun over the top of his gold vest. The only thing that made it the least bit subtle was a brown trench coat that hung off his shoulders like a second skin.

From underneath the iconic red and gold metal helmet that encased his head, Iron Man, new money mob boss of the Iron Family, surveyed the situation.

“Look at this,” said Iron Man, gesturing at the holes littered across the front entrance and surrounding wall. The grey dust of rock and wood was only just settling on the ground in a fine grain. “I make a name for myself in Boston by squashing the Ten Rings Gang into oblivion, and then I move here and this shit happens. Damn punks. Doesn’t anybody in this town have any respect for another man’s property?”

The only reply was a groan from a fallen body that Happy had forgotten to run over. The sap was slowly trying to crawl away from the wreckage, but Iron Man spotted a short arrow jutting out of his shoulder. Iron Man sauntered over to the pitiful soul and ground the heel of his black leather shoe into the man’s injured shoulder. The man screamed out in pain.

“So you still have your tongue huh?” said Iron Man with distain. “Rescue, bag ‘em up and take them to the lab. I want them ready for Hulk to question when I get back.”

“Understood, sir,” said the woman in white, her face a complete blank under a similarly shaped silver and red helmet. “Go ahead and check on the others inside. I’m sure they’d like to see you about now.”

They being Rhodey and Clint. After the successful raid with War Machine the week prior, he had sent the pair to prepare a storefront together. The same storefront that Iron Man was standing in front of.

Tony wanted to ask if she would be okay. Pepper handled a lot of his dirty work: clothes, schedule, people, female guests, occasional male guests, but dead and almost dead bodies… Clint usually took care of those. But they didn’t have the option now. If the bodies hadn’t been taken care of by now, it was necessary. Iron Man was too far up the chain of command to get his hands dirty like this, and War Machine and Hawkeye were down for the count. It had to be her. Tony had every confidence that Rescue could handle the job, but the person inside the suit. The person burred under the persona. Pepper.

Pepper was special. Pepper was a sensitive soul. Pepper shouldn’t have to deal with this kind of stuff. She would probably hold strong until she got home before collapsing on Happy and letting it all out. Tony hated to do that to her. He hated that he couldn’t be the one to help her out with those things. But if their short romantic endeavor proved anything, it’s that he was crap at being the comforting one in the relationship.

All Tony could do in the situation was nod in confirmation. “Take care of it.” The ‘be careful’, was implied.

Iron Man punched the remains of the door open. Inside was worse than the outside. At least now the family had a slightly better excuse to renovate the place. The shoddy lights had been shot out completely and gray dust filtered through the rays of light from the bullet holes. Blood spatters decorated the once pristine walls. Moans of pain echoed down the brick walls making his heart race. Where were they? It shouldn’t be that hard to find two of his best people.

“Roll call gents. Not paying you to slack off on the job,” Iron Man yelled into the shady shop.

“Funny, ain’t your name on the check,” called back a familiar voice. Within seconds, Rhodey appeared from the secret back of the shop, a white cloth drenched in red wrapped around his leg. His hands were bloody, but it was too much to be his own.

“Boss,” Clint grunted, pushing aside a bullet riddled table and some rubble. “Next time you want to test us, give us a warming first. I think I might’a broke something.”

“Doesn’t sound like your mouth,” quipped Rhodey. “I think you’ll live Barton.”

Tony smiled behind the mask. “Nice shot Barton. Rescue is on body control, but looks like you two held down the fort just fine.”

“If just fine you mean ‘we got out a hairs breath away from death,’ then I would agree,” grumbled Rhodey, his hand grazing against the cold heat strapped to his side.

Cling gave a weak salute as blood ran down over an injured eye. “Credit is all yours boss. New toy worked like a charm,” he said, showing off the portable crossbow strapped to his wrist.

He swelled a little with pride. One of Tony’s inventions that wasn’t reliant on arc reactor tech or, more importantly, owned by the government.  A mounted crossbow that folded up to hide along the length of a person’s arm. Easily concealed by a thick enough sleeve, but getting the string to maintain the tension between rest and active combat was a hell of a problem to solve. Took twenty six prototypes and four hundred seventy three test dummies before Clint was satisfied with the results.

“The Engineer does good work,” replied Iron Man with an affirmative nod.

“So do these guys,” griped Rhodey.

Iron Man scanned the new associates as they began to gather in the front around them. Many of them were worse for wear, but the majority looked like that would live with few or no scars. Their bandages were bloody and messy, but they were up and moving about. Rhodey and Clint had done a good enough patch job. Must have been a bad firefight if associates, not cold bodies, were first on the list. “Any clue who might have done this?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I have a hunch,” said an unfamiliar voice. An average Joe stepped out from behind Clint. An unassuming suit with a receding hairline and a simple smile. He was very well put together despite the prior fray. “I saw some cars parked on the side of the road before I came in. Didn’t think too much about it, but I’m pretty sure I saw a few faces belonging to the Hydra gang.”

Underneath the helmet, Tony raised a questioning eyebrow. “And you are-”

“Phil Coulson. I’m an information broker for the local paper, The SHIELD Daily Update.” Phil offered his hand. Iron Man didn’t take it.

“What about them Brooklyn Boys you were telling us about earlier,” asked Clint trying to divert the attention from the empty hand. “Couldn’t they do this?”

“No, the Brooklyn Boys don’t have the fire power to pull this off. They’re more of a ‘fists and knives’ gang,” replied Phil, taking back his hand. “Besides, The Brooklyn Boys never come this far north. The Captain is a good enough man that he mostly keeps to his side of the river.”

“Then why give us the info at all?” asked Iron Man, crossing his arms across the glow of the reactor. “Information brokers like you usually want something in return. Why tell us for free when we could knock each other off in revenge?”

“Think of is as a welcoming present, Mr. Iron. A gift in hope that you will use our services again.” Phil said with a gentle smile. “And from the report I have on your character, you’re not the type to pin the blame where it doesn’t belong. That means a lot to us at SHIELD. We need more people like you in this town Mr. Iron. Welcome to New York City.” With that, he turned to head out the door.

As he passed Clint on the way out, Phil reached into his jacket pocket for something. “Thank you for the conversation Mr. Barton. Here’s my card. Call if you ever need anything,” Phil handed it over with a wink, before closing what was left of the building door behind him.

* * *

 

Iron Man just stared at the door. What the hell just happened? His missed a lot of a conversation. But a conversation about what?

“What did you tell him?” Iron Man asked Clint.

“Why are you looking at me?” accused Clint. If Iron Man could raise a questioning eyebrow, he would.

“Nothing big, just the usual,” Clint said dismissively. “We’re from Boston. Moved here for a change of scenery. You brought War Machine, Rescue, and Hawkeye from your top brass, and everyone else don’t know nothing.”

“And?”

Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched over. “And somebody called a hit on the Engineer, so if we happen to find the baster who did it, ain’t no big thing if we happen to knock ‘em over.”

“Barton-” Iron Man’s voice was filled with an icy warning.

“What? It’s true.” True except the name. The Engineer did get hit with a Stark shrapnel bomb (military grade. It was supposed to be in the testing stages), landing Tony with a chest full of metal. By all accounts, he should have died, heck he almost did. But Yinsen and Bruce, god bless Bruce Banner, did enough of a patch job that Tony recovered enough to finish the job himself.

“Besides,” muttered Barton, looking at the door with thoughtful eyes. “Seemed like the kind of guy you could tell that type of stuff to. Trust worthy type.”

He’d heard enough. One hand reached under his jacket to the holster wrapped around his chest. Feeling the cold familiar metal in his hand, Iron Man pulled out the weapon and pointed the barrel at Barton. His heart and head were steady in the tense air. His body was apprehensive, but controlled. Unlike the nerves of the new associates. Their eyes were the size of saucers as they looked on. Each one clung to the others like helpless rats. Apparently, they were not used to seeing disciplinary action.

“Boss?”

Iron Man stared down Clint with cold eyes as he pulled back on the trigger. He felt a satisfying chill run down his back as the associates looked away. The resulting shot was deafening as it echoed throughout the damaged building.

With hesitant eyes, the associates turned their eyes toward the scene. Centimeters away from Clint’s intact head, was a fresh hole and a still red hot bullet embed in the wall.

“If I did care that you blabbed, I wouldn’t have the mercy to shoot you in the head,” Iron Man said, cocking back the smoking weapon. “If we didn’t need that info out there, I’d shoot you in the knees and then strap you to the tracks for the 5 o’clock train.”

Always the fool, Barton. Always playing the fool. Pretending to trust others with planted information. Pretending to be the fearful associate to show the others how it’s done with no prior notice from Tony. God, he loved that carnie.

“Do the rest of you understand?” Iron Man said, turning his attention to the cowering children.  “My men of Iron will protect you from anything. But if you so much as utter a word of treachery to anyone, you better pray to whatever Gods you have that fate intervenes. Because I will not be as merciful. I know what it means to be in pain,” he said, tapping the glow in his chest. “Now, imagine my pain transferred tenfold to you.” His voice began to rise with the gravity of the warning.

“That is what you should expect if you betray me. There will be no second changes. No excuses of ‘I will do better next time.’ Work is hard to come by friends, and protection is even harder. You idiots are a dime a dozen, and don’t think I don’t have what it takes to throw your ass to the curb if you fail me. This is the only warning you will get. Do I make myself clear?” He inspected the line of fools, glaring each of them down into submission. Not a one of them moved to leave.

“I want the place looking spotless by the end of the week!” he yelled. “I want rum runners ready with the local best before we open at the end of the month. We only got one shot at this, and if we don’t do well, I’ll do more than shoot bullets at your head. Am I clear?”

“Yes boss,” chorused the fresh meat.

“Good. Get to work!” Iron Man waltzed out of the storefront in a whirl of brown trench coat and red suit.

* * *

 

Hurt. They had been hurt bad. The limping. The blood. The missing of limbs. The shadows of the past still haunted his dreams no matter how many sleeping pills he took. Next time, it would be worse. He couldn’t do anything about it now. All he could do was prepare for the next time.

The armor. If only they had the armor. But it wasn’t ready. Heads were safe. But bodies… The idea was tangled up in his head, tangled in wires and logistics. He need more time, more space to work, but that was an impossibility now. The code dictated a return hit, within twenty four hours was more effective. Too soon. His men weren’t ready. The gifts were far from ready. The world was crashing down on his shoulders once again and he wasn’t fucking ready to deal with it yet.

“Tony? What’s wrong?”

Tony snapped out of his trance. Oh right. They had left the shop and had pulled into a back ally to change personas again. He’s breath, free of the helmet, was heavy and haggard against the roof of the limo. Most of his clothes had been discarded haphazardly through the open car door, leaving him with a dark set of dress pants and a red dress shirt with the top buttons open to the spring breeze. He tried to shake the cold panic from his system.

“Nothing Pep,” he said, with a reassuring smile.

With the press of a button, Pepper removed her helmet so she could give him the familiar glare of disbelief.  Nothing needed to be said. The two had done this same song and dance enough times that they had memorized each other’s lines.

Not wanting to prolong it any further, Tony grabbed an unassuming jacket from the back and walked off toward the park.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Apparently Pepper wanted to continue their regularly scheduled program, but Tony wasn’t in the mood for it today.

“Out,” he said brusquely, donning the jacket. “I need some air.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Tony was listening to is by Dizzy Gillespie. He began his career in the mid to late 1930's, but didn't become famous for bebop until the 1940's. This song came out around 1944 (so I'm really messing with history) but I really think Tony would listen to this kind of music. There's a link in the story as well as a [link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=09BB1pci8_o) here. 
> 
> Just a reminder, active writing and editing will be put on hold until further notice. Stomach pains have subsided, but I'm still being careful and cautious with my health. Chapter 5 will be posted on schedule, but I'm unsure about anything after that. Still intend on finishing.
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	5. Toast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's having a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a bit early because I have enkai with my co-workers tonight and I'm seeing Mad Max for the first time tomorrow. I hate that Japan get's movies so much later than everyone else. WHY IS AGE OF ULTRON COMING OUT ON JULY 4TH? WHY COULDN'T YOU GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER FASTER LIKE THE REST OF THE WORLD! D:
> 
> Thanks go to kuailong for the beta. Her edits made all the difference.

“Brothers and sister,” Schmidt’s voice echoed across the crowd slowly gathering in the park. “Do you not see? Hitler is the answer to our problems! Under his leadership, he will bring pride, glory, and honor back to Germany!”

“How does this guy not run out of oxygen?” Steve asked, nudging Bucky between the ribs.

It was a nice day at the park. Birds chirped in the fresh spring air of the Lower Eastside. Children amused themselves with a game of kick the can. Schmidt screamed at people in a heavy German accent to join the FONG (Friends of New Germany) and preached about the God-like savior of Germany, known as Hitler. Well, aside from the verbal assault on American values, nice day in the park.

“We can’t do nothing Steve,” Bucky whispered, biting into an apple. “Parks are public property.  Can’t start a fight on open turf. We got a rep to keep intact.”

“Doesn’t mean we should stand by and do nothing,” whispered Steve, crossing his arms across his chest. “He may have the right to free speech, but he’s harassing the public with this bull.”

“What do you think we should do? Take him out behind the dumpster and beat him up?”

Schmidt bellowed on. “England, France, and America are to blame for our misfortune! They punish us for the sins of our fathers. They punish us by taking our wares, giving us less than our due credit. They force us into work that is unfitting for men of any nation. They are the source of our economic crisis! And what do we do? We blame the banks when the real blame is larger than that. The blame is on them! On England! On France! On America! But when we look to the countries, to the nation, to the leaders of our nation, they blame us! Make our brothers and sisters in the home country carry crates of money just to pay for the necessities of life.”

“The world and the nation will continue to punish us based off our heritage unless we act. Unless we tell them no. Unless we tell them, ‘No more!’ ‘No more will I stand to be taken advantage of!’ ‘No more will my nation and my people be responsible for the mistakes of the past.’ ‘No more will I find shame in the fact that I am German!’ Stand behind Hitler, brothers and sisters! He will lead us to victory! He will be the savior of Germany! He is our leader. He is our Fuehrer!”

The crowd erupted with energy. Steve squeezed his crossed arms in an attempt to hold his anger at bay. “Maybe we should,” muttered Steve. “Teach this Nazi lover a lesson once and for all.”

Before either of them could act, a well-aimed apple core flew over the crowd and knocked Schmidt upside the head. Schmidt’s eyes zoned in on the assaulter, his face flaming red with swelling rage (hence the local nickname ‘Red Skull’).

“Hey bratwurst! Do us all a favor and ship yourself back to Germany. I’m sure Hitler would love a new red faced lap dog,” the onlooker shouted with a laugh.

That only made Schmidt’s face flush deeper. Steve was sure Schmidt would hit back, but he soldiered on through in insult. “Do you not see what I mean brothers and sisters? Before the war, Germany was respected. Feared by all. Now we are worth less than cattle. Berated, abused, discriminated against because of our heritage. Let us join forces to create a proud race once more! We are Aryans! We are superior! Hail Hitler!”

“Oh for the love of god, shut up!” yelled Steve. Others objectors in the crowd quickly began to raise their voice. A rock flew through the air, pelting Schmidt in the head, and that was the end of that. Schmidt tried in vain to protect himself from the rain of rocks, trash, and insults thrown relentlessly at him from the crowd. He tried to continue on, but the animosity from the crowd was too strong.

“You will all suffer!” yelled Schmidt as he ducked for cover. “Germany will rise again! Cut off on head, two more shall take its place!” he called as he ran for safety.

Steve shook his head in disbelief as the crowd began to disperse. “Nazi scum. Just because you have the right to way whatever you want doesn’t mean you should. We made it into America! Have a little respect.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Deal go bad, I take it?” Bucky asked, finally getting why Steve was so angry. Normally Schmit's rants wouldn't rile Steve up enough to for him to start with insults and threats. But today-

Steve nodded as the pair slowly made their way to the edge of the park. “Real bad. Jones says he’s business is on the up and up, and he can’t take a risk on bathtub booze like ours. He says there’s rumor going around ‘bout a new joint opening up in the next few weeks, and he can’t risk losing customers to unclean homemade stuff.”

“Ouch,” Bucky winced. “Nothing we can do about that. We got Jane’s place as clean as they come. How much we loosing?”

“Three crates. Less we get someone interested in our ‘less than legal’ juice, we’re going to be in the red.”

“Damnit." Bucky ran a frustrated hand through his hair. His eyes looked upward as he considered their opinions. "Well, I got a couple of contacts that I haven’t tried to sell our stuff to. I’ll shake ‘em down and let you know.”

“Thanks Bucky.” The smile was short lived. In his head, Steve was already running options of where else they could go. If the rumor was something to believed, they might lose more than half their business to changes in the pecking order. He couldn’t afford that. He could barely afford to pay his crew their less than living wage. Something had to be done, but he was stumped on the what.

“You headed back to base?” asked Bucky, angling his body back to their side of town.

Steve shook his head. “In a bit. Need some space to think.”

Bucky shrugged. “Suit yourself. Just be careful. You heard what Sam said last week”

Steve nodded and they parted ways. He sauntered over to a bench overlooking a sandbox and the kid’s playground, and flopped down with a sigh.

“What the hell am I doing?” he murmured to himself. Steve wanted so bad to sink into the bench and forget everything. So much had happened within the past week, it wasn’t even funny anymore. Not that it was to begin with, but Steve was getting tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Iron Family was an unwelcomed surprise to the pecking order, as was finding out that legislation to permit prohibition was being discussed in congress. Contracts for their booze were being dropped left and right, and it was making Steve antsy. Steve wasn’t into politics, but Sam was. According to him and his sources in DC, they meant it this time. They had gone so far as proposing four different drafts and presenting it to the floor twice.

Steve tried to stay skeptical. As long as congress sat around did nothing, nothing would happen and his people could get paid. Once legislation passed to allow alcohol once again, well, Steve didn’t want to think about that. There was no money in any account for an official business license. The Brooklyn Boys would be out of a job and out of income. The people who needed the extra income from the booze would have to find other ways to make ends meet. What were they to do then? Steve could always try his hand as a literature artist once again. People were always saying the soap advertisements were crap.  Or he could try to join up with the army again. But what about everyone else?

Bucky would join up with him again, no doubt. But what about Thor? What about Sam? What about Jane? There weren’t many decent jobs they could take.

What about Tony? What happened to him? Steve hadn’t seen Tony in the breadline on Tuesday, and he waited until noon just in case Tony was running late. Did he run late? Did he come at all? Maybe Steve had read Tony wrong. Maybe Tony wasn’t interested. Maybe Tony was just being nice. Maybe Tony was busy trying to find work like the rest of New York. Maybe Tony was right in front of him.

Steve snapped to attention. Tony? Was it really Tony? Steve had been absentmindedly scanning the park, but Tony was the last thing he expected to see out here. His clothes were to nice to fit Steve’s original profile. But the distinctive facial hair,  Steve would recognize that anywhere. He was dressed to the nines compared to when Steve saw him last. Bright red dress shirt and pressed pants made him stick out in brown neighborhood. Couldn’t be Tony. Could it? What was Tony doing here of all places?

Fixing someone’s scooter by the looks of it. Pocket knife in hand with various tools sticking out of his pockets, Tony was the epitome of pure concentration. Without a hat, Steve got a good look at the disheveled brown hair, elegant against the plains of his head. His eyes were cool and focused as his tongue darted back and forth across his plump lips. Steve’s fingers began to twitch in anticipation. His eyes darted back and forth across the scene in front of him, breaking down all the little details that made this moment perfect. He needed to capture it. He needed to get it all down.

Steve tried not to stare too much as he pulled out a piece of old newsprint and began sketching Tony’s form with strong dark strokes of charcoal. He hardly noticed when his fingers began to blacken as he added detail to the basic structures. He had to make the point just right if he wanted to capture the shadows and curves of the image perfectly. His eyes flashed up and down calculating and recreating each and every detail with his hands. As the image began to match reality, Steve felt that familiar rush of satisfaction.

Just as he finished the shadows that accented Tony’s figure, he felt a tap on his shoulder. The kid remind Steve of what he was like when he was young, before the army. Skinny and short.

“Tony says, ‘When you get your head out of your ass, you should go over and draw him.’”

“What?” asked Steve. He looked down at his sketch and felt a rush of embarrassment. No way was he fooling anyone with his particular brand of fascination. With clumsy fingers he somehow folded away the sketch. “I’m not-”

“Hey Tony!” yelled the boy. “He already drew a picture of you. You wanna see?”

“Hell yeah I do!” said Tony, almost jumping up from his spot in the sand. He raced over to Steve’s bench as if Steve had fresh baked cookies and a glass of warm milk.

“How did you draw me honey muffin?” he asked, squatting down on the open bench next to him with a big smile spread across his face.

Steve was taken aback by Tony’s forwardness. He wasn’t opposed. Far from it. But saying those things out here in public, near other people? Steve tried to think of something to say. Something clean, but with clear boundaries aligned with public values and constitutions. But all that came out was, “Good. It looks good.”

“Show me?” asked Tony, already reaching for the sketch.

“No!” Steve swiftly pulled the drawing out of reach. “It’s private. My practice pieces are always private.”

“Oh come on,” wined Tony. “I’ll show you mind if you show me yours.”

“What?” The rush of hot blood to his face was immediate.

“The sketch,” replied Tony as easily as if he were talking about the weather. “I was talking about the sketch. I was making one in the sand before those kids asked for my help.”

“Oh.” Steve looked down to try and hide his embarrassment. Even Steve would not deny that he heard disappointment in his voice.

Tony’s smile got cheeky. “Why? Think I was talking about something else?” he asked, nudging Steve in the ribs.

“No!” But the red flush of his ears betrayed his sinful thoughts.

“Listen,” Tony started. But he didn’t finish.

Steve turned his head to give Tony his full attention, to be respectful and all that. As he did, Tony’s hand flashed out and snagged the sketch from Steve's fingers.

“Give it back!” he protested, reaching out to get the paper back.

“No! I wanna see!” Tony held it over his head like a child. Even a head shorter than Steve, Tony was somehow able to keep the newsprint out of reach.

“It’s just a sketch. It’s not even that good,” Steve tried in vain to reach the paper.

“Let be me the judge of that.” Steve halted his rescue attempt. “Please?”

Steve wanted to say no. He wanted to keep what he drew private. Tony had absolutely no reason to see his drawing, and Steve had every reason not to let Tony see the damn thing. Tony may be acting like a giant flirt around him, but there was no clear indication that Tony would even be okay with how Steve perceived their relationship. And his sketch clearly showed what he thought about their relationship.

But, for some reason, a small part of him wanted to share it. A small part of him wanted to hear what Tony thought. A small part of him wanted this more than anything in the world. With a sigh, Steve gave in. “Fine,” he conceded, pulling back to his section of the bench. “Just don’t make fun of me when you see it.”

Tony grinned in victory, giving Steve a strange satisfaction in his chest. When he opened the folded paper, his mouth dropped. “This is amazing!” Tony’s face glowed with wonder.

“It’s really not,” said Steve suddenly very conscious of how close together they were.

“Are you kidding? If I was into paintings I would absolutely hire you. You should have your own exhibit.”

Steve shrugged, tying his best not to fall any deeper. “It would be much better if I had quality paper and a good model,” he criticized.

“Steve, are you asking me to model for you? I’m flattered.”

Steve smiled. He would like Tony to model for him. Tony would make a great model. If the callouses on his hand were anything to go by, Tony would probably have a few cuts and scars on his body. Those were always fun to draw. Steve would like drawing that.

He had to give Tony some grief though. It was Tony, not another eager body wanting to show off and get into his pants. It’s not as if he was trying to flirt with Tony. Grief was a necessary part of the ‘artist and model relationship’. Of course it was. “Models need to hold still for hours on end, and from what little I’ve seen of you, you’re not too good at that part.”

Tony smirked. “Got me there Rogers.”

Steve shifted in his seat.  “So,” he said, changing the subject. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

“Huh?”

“You said if I showed you mine, you would show me yours,” Steve replied, parroting the words.

Tony’s mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds. “I lied,” he finally said. “There’s nothing to see.”

“Then what were you drawing in the dirt? You said there was something there, and I can clearly see some sort of outline from here.” 

“Nothing,” Tony said sharply. “Just doodles and lines. Nothing as interesting as what you drew.”

“We’ll see,” said Steve with a mischievous grin. “I showed you my doodle, it’s only fair that I see yours,” he said as he got up and walked over to the special patch of dirt.

“Wait! Steve I-”

A breath caught in his throat. “Oh Tony.”

“I know it’s-”

“This is… This is just… wow,” Written across the dirt in small symbols looked like a display from a body. There were numbers, calculations. Short hand words scattered about the ground. Sketching of parts and pieces broken down and magnified. Details written in numerical code. To Steve, this wasn’t just scribbles on the ground. This was a new form of art that he didn’t understand. And it was pure genius in every captivating stroke.

“This is amazing Tony. What does it all say?”

“You have no idea what this stuff means, and yet you love it?”

Steve looked at Tony, his face downright confused at Steve’s wonder. But there was something else. At that moment, Tony looked more than confused, he looked tired. He looked so tired and alone. Like the weight of the world was riding on his shoulders and he was about to pass out from the weight. On the exterior, Tony looked strong, ready to throw his swagger wherever he pleased. But on the inside, underneath all that, his soul was crying out for a moment’s rest. How did Steve not notice before? The puffy bags under his eyes, the weariness in his shoulders. Steve’s chest clenched. He understood the pressure all too well, and it hurt too much.

Steve smiled at Tony, trying to offer what little comfort he could. “Just because I can’t understand it doesn’t mean I’m blind to the meaning.  I’ve worked with motorcycles in the past, so I can piece together some meaning. But Tony, I don’t need to know anything to tell that you poured your heart and soul into this. It’s not that hard to see. But I have no context for any of this. I want to know the context so I can better understand what you made here.”

Steve felt the next few words hesitate on his tongue. Should he say it? He wanted to say it. It sounded so right. Could he? He couldn’t rub his thumb against the back of Tony’s hand to reassure him that all that was being said was true. But he wanted to. He wanted to so bad. Tony looked like he didn’t believe anything Steve was saying. And Steve wanted him to believe. Even if it was only for a second. He wanted Tony to trust him. He wanted to touch, but he couldn’t. Instead, he went with the words on his tongue.  “I want to know what this is, so I can better understand you Tony.”

Tony looked down and kicked at the dirt. “What if you don’t like what you see?” he mumbled.

Steve’s heart dropped. How many times had Tony been criticized for pouring his heart out? “Tony,” his voice tried to reach out to where his hands couldn’t. “I don’t think anyone who could make something like this could have something I wouldn’t like to see.”

Tony offered a small smile. “It ain’t much,” admitted Tony, pushing his shoulders back. Steve felt a glow begin in his stomach as Tony slowly regained his confidence. “Working in the dirt, you can only do so much.” He pointed to a section near the center of the image.

“Here, this is the part I’m having problems with. Can’t replace the power source to make room for the accessories. Can’t make it any weaker either. But it keeps overheating if I don’t.” Tony took the time to describe each little section of the layout and the function of each part, hands flying all over the place like he was a mad scientist. The therms and technology went over Steve’s head, but he didn’t mind much. Hearing the excitement and calming tones in Tony’s voice was a peace in Steve’s crazy life. He could go asleep just listening to Tony talk. For a moment, it was nice to forget his own worries and focus on someone else.

“Don’t you have some place where you can work this stuff out on your own?" asked Steve. "Someplace where you can tinker around?”

“My workshop,” replied Tony with a complicated look. “But my new one is currently under construction right now, and the one at work has people that I’d rather not see.” There was a story behind there, but Steve didn’t push. “You should come and see it some time. Got all the latest toys. Can’t promise anything, but should be a fun time.”

Steve felt his chest flutter. “I’d like that.”

As if remembering that Steve couldn’t read his mind, Tony reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. With a black pen, he quickly scrawled a set of numbers down. “Don’t know if you’d ever need it, but the number is a direct line to me. If you ever come in person, just tell the front desk that you’re looking for Tony. Only been working there for a little over a week, so I don’t have my own business cards yet. Think it’ll work okay? ”

Steve just stared at the card. He read over the silver writing twice, and then a third and fourth time. Was it true? Where his eyes deceiving him.

“Steve?” Tony waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Kinda leaving me hanging here…”

Steve looked at him. Then back at the card. Then back at Tony. Steve’s entire body was alight with energy. “This is amazing Tony! You got the job! And it's at Stark Industries." Steve was all smiles."That's amazing! Stark Industries is one of the best companies to work for!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! A lot of folks in Brooklyn have temp work or seasonal contracts with Stark Industries. And a lot of folks I know are looking for full time work at Stark Industries, but haven’t gotten close to getting. But you actually got in. And you have your own business card!”

“Will have my own, not yet. And it’s nothing, really. I’m just an engineer,” said Tony, looking away from Steve. Wait a minute, was he embarrassed?

“We should celebrate.” Steve was bursting with excitement. “I don’t have much, but I have a bottle of something special I could open just of the occasion.”

Tony tried to brush the entire thing off. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” insisted Steve. ”You have a business card. That means a permanent contract! Who else would celebrate with you? Pepper? Rhodey?”

Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous hand. “Well-”

Steve’s happiness level dropped. His sad puppy eyes Bucky always talked about were out for sure. “Don’t tell me that they haven’t done anything to congratulate you yet?”

Tony tried to shrug off puppy Steve’s attention.  “I’m telling you Steve, it’s really not a big deal. Besides, they’re busy with other stuff right now.”

A dark pain began to grow in Steve's heart. It wasn't right. Tony shouldn't be by himself commemorating this event all alone. He should have company. Friends, family, anyone who gave a damn about Tony should be reveling in this opportunity. But Tony had no one. No a single person was around to congratulate Tony on his accomplishments.

Steve's heart clenched in anger. That settled it. Steve grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag Tony back to Steve’s side of the river.

Tony tried to fight back. “Hey! Where are you taking me?”

“My place,” ordered Steve. “We are going to celebrate your accomplishment like normal people and you are going to enjoy it.”

“I hardly see us as normal people Rogers.”

“Shut up Tony.” Steve used his Captain voice. He whirled around to face Tony. “We are going across the river to my apartment, and we are having a drink. If you want to leave after that, you can. But there’s no way I’m leaving you to celebrate alone, and I don’t have the cash to go to a speakeasy.” Desperation clung to his voice. This was something special, something that should be celebrated. Tony needed this. He needed this.

Steve tried pulling again, but the exhaustion was catching up to him. Energy was leaking out of him like a broken faucet. He could do this. He had the willpower to do this. But he was just too tired to fight anymore. He was too tired to be strong anymore. Too tired of taking charge.  He was just too tired. He body went slack as he weakly tried to pull Tony to his side. His head lolled down as he stared at their hands.

“Just let me do this one thing for you,” he begged, barely breathing. “I haven’t had a lot of good news today.”

They stood in silence as Steve tried to catch his breath. Tony had stopped pulling in objection. “Job didn’t come through?”

Steve let out a tired laugh. “Something like that.”

Tony looked over his shoulder as if he was looking for someone. “One drink,” caved Tony.

Steve smiled. His grip on Tony’s arm relaxed. Good. This was good. “That’s all I’m asking for.”

* * *

“I’ll say one thing, it ain’t the Crown Plaza.”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Third floor out of four. Roof over our heads. Keeps the cold out better than a paper, and having a few roommates helps with the rent. Not all of us can have jobs at Stark Industries.”

“Good point,” said Tony with a smile. Steve ducked down into a cabinet to pull out the bottle the gang had opened up last night. They always tasted a bottle of the product before they shipped it out. Didn't mean they always finished off what they opened.

“You okay with just a mason jar? I don’t have anything fancy,” said Steve, pouring them each a glass of amber liquid.

“No,” said Tony sarcastically. “It’s illegal for alcohol to be consumed in anything less than a whisky glass.”

“Well,” said Steve with a smile as he passed Tony a glass. “Guess we’ll be criminals together.”

“I can see the charges now,” said Tony with a smile. “Stark and Rogers, fugitives of the law for using the wrong type of drinking glass.”

Steve quietly laughed at the quip as he raised his glass. “Cheers,” he proposed. “To a new job and new opportunities.”

“And many more for those who have none,” said Tony with a smile before taking the drink.

Steve waited a moment before indulging in his. The first drink, it was his favorite part in making giggle juice

When Tony groaned in almost comical pleasure, Steve couldn’t hold back the grin. “This is amazing,” gushed Tony. “Where did you get it? Don’t tell me you had to kill someone for it. Because I would be willing to kill someone for this.

Steve could only shrug. “I know a guy,” he lied. He did know a guy, but Tony didn’t need to know that Steve was that guy. Steve hated lying. But Tony didn’t need to know about Steve’s side job. It was better this way. He didn’t need the fight between legal and illegal. Moral and amoral. Steve just needed to remember that Tony was, as far as the signs showed, a straight shooting guy that didn’t need the scandal from seeing a guy that swung both ways.

“Well tell your guy to contact me when he gets the chance. This stuff is really good. You know, for locally made.” Tony began wander around the apartment taking in his surroundings. “Now the Italians,” he began to ramble. “They know how to make a good wine, and the Germans have a great rep with beer. You should see my collection sometime. Honestly, I’m more of a scotch person than anything, but this is still pretty good.” Tony took another sip as he looked around the small room. “Something wrong with your heater?”

Steve forgot they had been using it as an expensive drying rack. “Broke down last fall. Never got around to having it fixed. Don’t have the money.”

“Let me see what I can do,” said Tony, rolling up his sleeves.

“You don’t have to-”

“Steve, it’s fine. I’m in a tinkering mood right now. Gotta use my hands for something.”

Despite Steve’s sputtered words of protest, Tony sat himself down, made himself at home amongst the clutter, and started taking apart the heater, tuning out anything that wasn’t related to the mechanical wiring.

Steve huffed at Tony’s audacity. But he looked like he was enjoying himself. A marked improvement from what Steve saw in the park. Tony’s fingers flew like city pigeons as they dismantled the heater piece by piece. His eyes were different than in the park. His brow was still furrowed, but Steve’s keen eyes picked up the differences. In the park, the lines were deep and more pronounced, sign of frustration as he dug his ideas into the dirt. Now, they were tense with focused and deep thought. Tony’s eyes were steady and bright as steel, as they darted across the different parts of the machine. He looked so perfect. He looked so right. This wasn't about appearances for the sake of potential courting. This was about seeing something beautiful being laid out in front of him like an orange in a Christmas stocking. Something precious and pure

Steve had to get it down.

After taking care of the glasses and the bottle, he fetched his sketch pad and pencils form his disorganized corner of the room. Grabbing a chair and one of the few flat surfaces open to act as a table, Steve began to sketch, but this time he dedicated more effort and care to each stroke. Rough sketches on fliers and literature were fine for practice, but art supplies were expensive and a luxury item compared to food and rent.

With careful strokes, he carved Tony into the paper. The strong length of his back. The slant of his shoulders. The soft curves of his arms. He noted the slow passing of the sun as it made the shadows longer and Tony’s profile more pronounced. The 4:45 shadows were perfect for Tony’s shape, and Steve deliberately went a little fast with the outline. He could always go back and fill it in later. He usually did. As long as he got the aura of his model, his drawings turned out to his liking. And at exactly 4:45, Tony’s aura shone like a beacon in a moonless night.

He wouldn’t say everything was perfect, but it seemed like at that moment Tony’s personal walls finally came down. He looked so at peace with the world. Centered in his element. Steve secretly wished he could see Tony like that every day for the rest of his life.

“Damn that’s hot.”

Steve looked up from his drawing. “Did you say something Tony?”

Tony shook his head, hair fluffed up from hands frequently running through the dark follicles. A dark grease stain ran along his temple. “Nothing important. Just that starving artist is a good look for you.”

“Um… thanks?”

“Fixed your heater,” said Tony, wiping his hands on a white handkerchief. Was that silk? “If I had better tools and supplies, I could make significant improvements. But for now, it’ll do what it’s supposed to do, make hot or cold air. Boring. I’d love to modify it to see if I could make toast.”

“Toast?”

“Yeah, toast. Or play records. Something like that.”

Steve laughed. He could get used to this, if given the chance. The gentle banter, the moments of silence where nothing needed to be said, for those few seconds, Steve felt everything could be perfect. With his handkerchief in hand, Tony brushed the soft material over his own darkened cheek. “You... um… you got something on your face Steve.”

“What?” Tony could have asked him what two plus two was and he still would have been too distracted to answer.

Tony motioned to his cheek again trying to mirror where the grim was. “Around here.”

Steve rubbed his face as he tried to wipe the unseen smudge off. Tony let out a fustrated sigh.

“Let me do it,” he said, dabbing a spot right below Steve’s cheek bone “Don’t you guys have mirrors here?”

“Uh huh, but it’s cloudy.”

“Why don’t you clean it?”

“When was the last time you were at a bachelor’s pad?”

“Couple hours ago,” Tony said with a smirk. “My place isnt as bad as your though.” He scooted closer to Steve to clean away the smudge.

A breath caught in Steve’s throat. Tony was closer now than ever. Steve could only watch as Tony’s pink tongue wet the snow white handkerchief. White cloth darkened to gray as the strong fingers held the damp cloth against his face. It didn’t feel slimy and weird like when his mom did it. It was warm, and nice. The dilation of Tony's eyes as they floated across Steve's face. Tony’s breath against his. Steve’s chest migrated closer to Tony, as if pulled by an unknown magnetic force. God, it would be so easy. It wouldn't even take that much to lean a bit closer and-

"Toast!" 

Steve paused. Lips parted and hesitant. "What?"

"I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I think of it earlier!" 

Steve felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. His heart was beating a mile a minute. "Toast?" Steve was almost in hysterics. Granted, it was much more defined than the chaotic storm whirling around his mind.

"Yes!" said Tony enthusiastically. He looked like he was about to take off for the moon. "Well, not literally, but the idea is still the same. See-"

A bang on the door disrupted Steve’s whirlwind of thoughts. In a daze,  he got up and answered the door. Bucky's slowly bruising face quickly brought his focus back to the now.

"We have a problem," murmured Thor, adjusting Bucky over his shoulder using his good arm.

Bucky gave Steve a foolish grin. "We got a stake in the freezer I can borrow?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Chapter 6 and & 7 will be on schedule. I'm going to try my best to keep my goals since I'm running into some motivation problems writing the story. Hope you're enjoying it so far! I'm working on the climax and it's getting harder to punch it out. 
> 
> Here's hoping you guys have a great two weeks!
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	6. Balancing His Debts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's sass meter goes up.

Tony's brain was running a thousand miles a minute. Devilish thoughts and ideas cascaded around his brain as warm dark arousal pooled in his gut. It was a familiar song and dance for Tony. Entice a man with a broken radiator and the next thing you know, you want to bend a blond over backwards and fuck an artist (and be fucked by said artist) six ways to Sunday. Normally, Tony would distract himself from such sinful thoughts by reciting all prime numbers up to eight digits, but today was turning out to be harder than most.

Not only was his heart keeping time with the rapid rhythm of his arc reactor, but his mouth was unnaturally dry and his lips were in great need to be wetted by something other than water. Steve wasn't making it easy. His heart-melting smile, those gorgeous blue eyes, the flawless way banter flowed between them. Steve wasn’t making it any easier for Tony to deny his selfish desires.

Thank god for Steve's friends interrupting when they did. Tony’s brain had sparked the idea for a toaster at the last salvageable second, yes, but he had gotten stuck in rambling mode as soon as he retracted from the embrace. And a whole lot of shit often came out on that mode. Like how while Steve carefully drew him, Tony fantasized Steve forcing him up against the wall and fucking him dry as Steve eye groped him between kisses with those sharp blue eyes. He would use those big, working hands to milk them both dry as Tony screamed and clawed his way through-

Dammit! No! Those were not the type of thoughts he should be having. He had a company to run. A reputation to uphold. He could not out himself as a fag at this critical juncture. Admiring a man in a well-tailored suit was fine. Those thoughts in private were fine. But Tony was seconds away from pressing his lips against Steve's just so he could feel the soft, plump, solid weight against his as it reached out with a tantalizing shine and he wrapped himself around- Nope! Not gonna happen!

"Hey." A strong hand on his shoulder disrupted his internal rambling.

“Hey.” The words came out as breathless gasp. Tony took a gulp of air and tried to sound more put together. Like his heart wasn’t keeping dangerous time with the rapid rotation of the arc reactor. “He going to be okay?”

“Yeah, just a black eye, thank god.”

Tony looked over Steve’s shoulder to see the guys who rudely interrupted them. There had been little time for introductions as the very well-built blonde one (who looked more like a god than an actual human) rushed off to fetch a steak and some ice. The injured party looked like a hobo off the streets rather than someone who could be considered Steve’s friend, let alone the roommate Steve had brusquely introduced him as. Eyes like an assassin that one, and greasy mess of long brown bangs that flopped over his eyes. Tony would guess the guy’s hair  was normally slicked back and well kept, but the lack of appearance could be attributed to whomever gave him that shiner on his face (or whatever caused it.) Must have been a bad brawl considering the severe limp he came in with and the way each breath he took looked painful and labored. Seeing the anxiety on Steve’s face made him feel nervous too. Tony tried to offer some form of advice to ease Steve’s apprehension.

“I’m no doctor Steve,” Tony said in a hushed tone. “But that it looks more than just a black eye.”

“Tony.” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched up his face. Where had he heard that familiar tone before? Oh right, Pepper when she was exasperated with him. “It’s fine. We’ll deal with it.”

Tony glared at him in disbelief. Scrapes, you could deal with on your own. Bruises, you could deal with on your own. Sprains, you could deal with on your own. Potentially broken bones were not something you dealt with on your own. You went to a doctor, or some type of professional to deal with it for you. Steve wasn’t a professional. Tony tried to push a little more. Because that's what friends do, right? “You know, I know a doctor who can help out if you really need-”

“No, Tony,” Steve interruption was curt . His face was pinched in all the wrong places, like he wanted to shove Tony out the door and flat out on his ass. “It’s fine. We have to take care if it ourselves. We don’t have the money to afford a doctor.”

Tony was offended, not that he had any ground to stand on with his own history escaping medical facilities. Tony wanted to say that money wasn’t an issue. He could take care of everything and Bruce would probably waive any fee anyway when he found out ‘grease monkey’ here was a friend of Steve’s. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. He liked what he and Steve had right now and didn’t want to mess it up by bringing money into the mix. Especially the amount of money he made. Money always made everything messy. And that last thing he wanted or needed right now was chaos in his private life.

“I should probably go now,” he murmured.

The frustration in Steve’s face fell  away. “I didn’t mean-” he stuttered. “I don’t want to push you-”

But Tony understood. A friend got hurt. Tony would do the same if he was in Steve’s position. Acting overprotective about the littlest thing.  Hell, he did that and more after the attack in Boston.  Tony waved it off. “No, it's okay. Just got an idea for some stuff at work. We're square.”

Relief crossed Steve’s face. “Good. Hey, um…” He looked down and did that adorable feet shuffle Tony had seen the first day they met. “Feel free to stop by any time you want. I feel bad kicking you out like this.” Steve's focus darted over to Beefcake McGoldilocks. The constant rubbing of his hands screamed worry and mother hen instinct. Tony could take a hint.

Tony offered Steve a reassuring smile. “No big deal. I'll see you around Steve.” Tony patted Steve on the shoulder as he left. "Go play doctor. I can see myself out."

“Thanks,” said Steve with a clearly pained smile.

Like the gentlemen he was, Tony quickly made his escape from the tense room, closing the door softly behind him. Never let it be said that Tony would stay someplace he wasn’t wanted. He clopped down the three stories of wooden steps, silently scolding himself from even thinking that Steve would want him there in a time of need. From the stairs of the second floor, he noticed a familiar black car that some younger immigrant boys were gathered around. A few housewives were whispering speculation amongst themselves on the sidewalk as an inconspicuous shadow on the rooftop across the street darted out of sight.

Tony rolled his eyes. He looked around for anything suspicious before going up and tapping the window on the driver’s side with his knuckle. "You guys spying on me now?" Tony asked the window.

The window rolled down. "Pepper asked me to keep an eye on you."

The kids scampered away from the car and the women suddenly found the brick structures fascinating. Tony whistled in frustration. “Doesn't trust me, huh? Has to send two of my best to tail my ass because I’m that unreliable.”

Happy shrugged. “You do have a history of making very bad choices when left to your own devices. And we do have a very recent hit to be concerned about."

“Concern yourself no more my friend," said Tony as he got in the car. "I came up with a plan while gallivanting across the rooftops, waiting for my knight in shining armor to save me."

Happy rolled his eyes. "What's the idea boss?"

"Well, it involves toast..."

 

* * *

 

“Are these my new threads?” asked Rhodey, running his fingers against the cool silver metal.

Tony didn’t look up from the magnifying glass as he wired a disarray of coils together. “Wouldn’t be mine or Pep’s. You’re the one that wanted the extra heat.”

“What can I say? I like things that go boom,” replied Rhodey, admiring his reflection in the metal.

“It’s not ready yet. Still need to solve the overheating and power regulating problems,” Tony motioned to the disarray of unlabeled blueprints and schematics.

“You sure these things are going to be safe? Doesn’t look safe.” Rhodey asked, examining a print. Only half of the engine-like piece was present on the paper. There were holes and pieces missing in the design, enough that if constructed by itself, it would explode when activated.

“That’s because you’re not looking at the whole picture,” grumbled Tony, pushing the print in Rhodey’s hands against two other sheets of parchment paper, filling in the blanks and making the device perfectly safe. “Don’t you have any faith in me Rhodes? They’re modeled after mine, so you have nothing to worry about. Yours and Pep’s just happen to be a little more tricky because you don’t have a power source in your chest.”

“Yeah, I’ll say no to that surgery.”

“Why not? Being a living night light has its perks,” said Tony with a snarky smirk.

Rhodey snorted in amusement. “I’m sure it does.”

The door to the lab slammed open and a very angry Pepper Pots stormed into the room. She shoved a bolded headline into Tony’s face.

"What is this?" demanded Pepper, equipped with a newspaper and a clipboard of important papers.

"Black and white and read all over?” Tony joked, not bothering to look up from the magnifying glass.  “I don't know Pep, but I'll get back to you after I finish the wiring here."

Pepper wasn't impressed. "Don't be coy with me Tony. This is your work, isn't it?"

Looked like there was no ignoring this. “And the prize goes to Pepper Pots ladies and gents!” he said, putting down his tools and spinning around in his chair. “Brilliant deduction as always. I don't understand why your sex doesn't get more credit.”

“Tony! This is serious!”

“And so is a heart attack,“ he replied, enjoying the excuse to be a smartass.

The red shade of her face almost matched the color of her hair. “You put our picture on the front page!” she screamed, shaking the paper like a lone leaf in a strong autumn wind. And indeed they had. A dark burn mark in the shape of the Iron Man helmet demanded attention on the front page of the morning edition.

The plan was brilliant, and it was all thanks to Steve. Or, Steve's broken heater as was the case. It only took Tony a few hours to create the device before the plan was put into action. With a little help from Phil, God bless self-interest and capitalism, Clint was able to sneak into one of Hydra's better known hideouts under the guise of a heating repairman. Claiming to check on the local utilities for any broken parts, Clint had masterfully installed the device under Tony’s orders and gotten the hell out of dodge. By itself, it was perfectly safe, but the next time Hydra turned on the heat, the entire heating unit would burst into flames leaving a large burn mark on the wall that looked like the Iron Man Helmet. Guess the next time turned out to be sooner than later.

“I didn’t put our picture there. Peter Parker did,” he said, pointing the credited name at the bottom of the picture. “I’ll give him credit, he makes it look much nicer than I expected.”

“Tony.” Pepper pushed her fingers to her temple. There was that look for the second time today. Tony was on a roll.

“What?” he asked, playing clueless to her strife.

“I thought we agreed to keep it low profile. This picture. This mark! It all screams you!” she shook the morning rag at him.

“No, it screams Iron Family. See the helmet?” he corrected.

Pepper was having none of it. “Semantics,” she said with a glare.

“Very important in business,” Tony said with a smirk.

Her arms fell to the sides of her body in exasperation. “Tony.”

“What?,” he askes with an innocent smile. “It was Steve’s idea.”

“Steve?” Rhodey raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Which reminds me,” Tony jumped flawlessly on the tangent.  “I should get a present for him. I haven’t had such a good plan for a hit in a long time.”

“Tony, who is Steve?” demanded Pepper.

“A friend.”

“A friend?” Rhodey sat back in his chair.

“Local friend,” he quickely fibbed.

“And does he know about…” Rhodey waved a hand around to all the stuff in the lab, but Tony knew he meant much more that what could immediately be seen.

Tony scoffed. “You doubt my intelligence.”

“Only when it’s necessary,” Pepper said in a curt tone.

“Pep, I’m not going up to a civilian and saying ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Iron Man. Thanks for inspiring me to decimate my enemies. Wanna be friends?’ It just wouldn’t fly.”

“And this hit does?”

“Look at the big picture Pep.”

“I am, Tony,” she said, eying the paper.

“Our name is out there now. All of New York knows what we can do. Who’s going to mess with us now? Pepper, you’re always talking about branding and my actions representing my work and the company. Think of it that way. I just branded us a force to be reckoned with.”

She crossed her arms, but the fire was gone from her eyes. Tony counted that as a win. “I don’t like it.”

“So you’ve stated multiple times.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I always?”

Pepper averted her eyes to a clipboard of papers. “I won’t even dignify that with an answer.”

“Great!” Tony clapped his hands in excitement. He had so much planned for today. Plans to make, Steve people to impress, people to destroy. “So, lunch-”

“Lunch meeting with Oscorp ,” interrupted Pepper. Oh right. He had forgotten about that, for the sole reason that Norman Osborn gave him the willies. Tony tried again. “Lunch meeting, then off to buy-”

“I’ll be going out to buy those modified suits you ordered special from the Van Dyne’s while you have a meeting with General Ross and Captain Blonsky,” Pepper reported from the schedule on her clipboard.

“No Pep,” Tony whined. “They give me the creeps. Even worse than Osborn. Can’t I just blow it off all like I normally do?

“You were gone all afternoon yesterday!  I was about to send out a search party.”

“And you have no idea how grateful I am that you didn’t.”

“And then Happy tracks you down in a Brooklyn dump-”

“Not a dump, Pep. Poorly funded neighborhood.”

“Fumbling like a drunken fool. And then you have to nerve to barricade yourself into your lab, leaving me and Obie to deal with the falling out.”

“Which you always handle so nicely by the way.”

“Tony! It was a contract with the British marines!”

“And they’ll be back another day,” Tony tried to brush it all off. “Who else would they go to? Hammer? His quality is shit and they know it.”

Pepper groaned in response.

“Oh come on Pep. You know I’m right.”

“Just because you are, doesn’t make everything you did worth it,” she reluctantly conceded.

Tony couldn’t help the smile sneaking onto his face. Even if he could contain it, he hadn’t a reason to care. “I’ll say it was worth it.”

Rhodey cocked an eyebrow. “Tony,” his tone was cautious. “What did you do?”

“Nothin’,” he confessed. It was technically true. Steve did all the heavy lifting. He poured the drink. He drew the sketch. His eyes were the ones that raced all over Tony’s body igniting an ember in the bellows of his stomach.

“I know that look, Tony.”

“What look?” asked Tony. He didn’t have a look. Did he? Of course he didn’t. That was impossible. Was it? He was thinking about Steve, not some pretty dame on his arm. That was the look Rhodey was talking about, right? Thinking about pretty dames, wasn't on his radar. Besides, Steve would be much better than any random dame.  Dressed to the nines in a well fitted tux, blue eyes shining like sapphires from the flashing photographers.

“That look!” Rhodey pointed to his face. “That stupid happy look like you’re a dog in front of a butcher shop drooling over the cold cuts.”

Tony was taken aback. “I don’t have that look. Do I Pep?”

Pepper gave an ambivalent shrug. “You have been a bit spacy since you came back.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve got someone on your mind Tones. Someone special.”

“You’re special,” he shot back.

Rhodey shook his head. “Not that kind of special.”

“If I were you, I would be hurt,” Tony replied with an exaggerated pout. “How would I have time for anyone special? I’ve spent almost all my time in New York working.”

“You went on a walk,” said Pepper.

“And I met my ‘someone special’ on my walk? That makes absolutely no sense, Pep. How could someone I’ve only just met become a ‘someone special’?”

“Believe or not," said Rhodey. "We know who you really are. And no matter how much you play up the playboy image, you’ve always been the one gal type of guy. Doesn’t take much for you to fall head over heels, Tones. They’re few and far between, but when you fall, man, you go all the way.”

Tony tried to come up with some excuse. Something to tell them that they were crazy or just letting their imaginations run wild in his absence. But he couldn’t. Tony couldn’t say it because some small part of him knew it was true. Some small part of him wished beyond a doubt that it was true. “We’re not like that,” he murmured quietly

But would he want to be? They had only spent a little time together, but it would be easy for Tony to imagine. Laughing over a meal. Steve sketching while Tony tinkered on his work in the lab. Maybe Tony could rent out a theater and they could watch movies together. Oh, who was he kidding, Tony could build them a movie theater and they could watch movies snuggled against each other on the couch. No other people. No other judgments. Maybe get some high quality wine imported from Italy. The kind with lots of zeroes on the price tag. That would be the life.

Pepper shrugged. “Well, whoever she is, I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

That made Tony pause. He wasn’t mad at Pepper for implying that Steve was a fool. Tony could be mad, but it made him think. He wanted to say something in response, but he couldn’t. He wanted to say “I hope so too,” but the worlds on the tip of his tongue refused to come out. Was he really that much of a fool? Would Steve be okay with Tony? All of Tony? Millionaire mob boss and all? Could Steve be okay with all that? Could he? Being around Tony, the real Tony all the time? Not to mention Tony was a man. There wasn’t anything remotely feminine about Tony’s physique. Steve wouldn’t be confused about that. Even if Tony shaved his goatee off, which would be akin to death for him, would Steve be willing to look past sex to give Tony the time of day?

Tony shook the tempting thoughts out of his head. Wouldn’t matter anyway. After he repaid Steve and said his goodbyes, none of this would matter.

He had decided it after their drink. After their almost kiss. Being with Steve, being close to Tony, it was too dangerous. It was too dangerous for business, and it was too dangerous for Steve. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Jarvis, Clint, and Bruce, they all knew what they signed up for when they joined him. But Steve, he was innocent. And he would have no choice but to become guilty if he and Tony became, well, more. Tony couldn't let that happen to Steve, he wouldn't let that happen to Steve. Having a couple sips of prohibition, that was one thing. Associating with an active mob boss as he terrorized the New York underground and fit men for their pine box overcoat, that was something else entirely. It would be in his best interest to keep him at a distance. And that meant no more visits. Just a “goodbye” for closure and that would be it.

“What are we talking about?” asked Bruce as he walked into the lab.

“Nothing,” responded Tony grateful for the distraction. “Just speculations about my romantic life.”

“Oh,” Bruce whipped his knuckles on a once green handkerchief that had since been stained red. “I thought we were talking about something important.”

“This is important,” said Rhodey. His eyes and voice said this discussion wasn’t over yet.

Tony rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned, the discussion never happened and would never be brought up again. “What you got for me Brucie bear?”

Bruce sighed. “Not much we didn’t already know,” he said, plopping down in one of the seats. “Hit on the shop was coordinated by someone in Hydra, but the guy you brought me ain't spilling on who.”

“He's wearing an expensive suit, not slacks and suspenders.” Rhodey drummed his fingers against crossed arms. “Means he shouldn't be getting his orders through the grapevine like some low level goon.”

“And yet he can't tell me who's on top giving orders,” retorted Bruce. “Said something about Zola being the messenger, but he’s confused as to who would send the message.”

“You would think gang members would know who's linked with who, but no, we just had to get the special one,” mocked Tony.

“Someone must be messing with the top brass. Alliances tend to shift with power changes,”considered Rhodey.

Bruce shrugged. “Don't matter to us. We're not going to get much out of him until he recovers.”

Tony raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn’t think the interrogation would get that rough. “Hulk get to him?” he asked.

Within the ranks of the top brass, they called him Bruce. To everyone else, he was the Hulk. Not that Bruce was a hulking of a man. He hid his face behind large, thick glasses and an unkempt fro of curly hair. The slump of his shoulders around strangers usually made people think he was cowardly or weak. But give the man surgery tools, bad guys better beware. Tony had once seen Bruce down five grunts in the slums of Boston using only a surgery knife, and that was before he agreed to join the Iron Family. After seeing such a beautiful display of knife work, Tony knew he had to have him.

Bruce’s doctor steady hands were great at making painful yet non-life-threatening cuts to questioned parties, and he was even better at making lethal cuts look accidental when they needed to leave a body for the coppers. But occasionally things got a little rough in their interrogation room (codenamed “The Dungeon”) or on the streets. Whenever that happened the true Hulk would come out to play; fists, power, and merciless anger out in abundance. Bruce was deeply ashamed of his two faced personality, but Tony had been more than accepting of Bruce’s personality quirks. To him, both sides held their own beautiful strength, and both were valuable players amongst his top brass. Tony had witnessed the strength to the true Hulk only a handful of times, and it was enough for him to respected Bruce’s request to stay “under the radar”.

Bruce shook his head. “The other guy was not happy with how I wanted to proceed with the interrogation. Ended up getting a little punch drunk,” admitted Bruce.

“You think there’s more to get out?” Rhodey leaned back against a workstation.

Bruce shrugged. “Besides potential info on the Boston attack, not really. Nothing of significant importance anyway. But it’s always good to be prepared for anything. Maybe I can get some secrets about Hydra we can use in the future.”

“Like what?” asked Rhodey.

“Locations might be good,” voiced Pepper. All eyes turned to her. “I’ve been going through the papers; receipts, shipping documents, meeting notes, employee records, and I think I’m beginning to see a pattern.”

“What kind of pattern Pep?”

“Well, for one thing, names. Lots of names.”

“Takes a lotta people to run a company,” said Rhodey.

“But not this many,” Pepper flipped through her clipboard of papers as if to reassure herself that she was right. “There shouldn’t be this many hands in the system. I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but too many things aren’t adding up like they should. Lots of people authorizing things incorrectly or filling out papers they have no business with. Nothing that would set off alarms, but the sheer number is unnerving.”

“Either way, their supply locations would be good to compare to any documents we have on record. See if anything our Hydra guest knows matches up to what we have on file. Think you can get that for me Bruce? Don't want to be knocking down the wrong doors. ”

Bruce took an unsure breath, considering the possibilities. “I can certainly try. Don’t know if our guest is privy to information like that.”

“If you would, please. Anything helps.”

Bruce gave an assuring nod. “Then I guessing better get him prepped. It's going to be a long day."

Just as Bruce was about to leave, Tony remembered something very important he wanted to ask about. "What does shortness of breath mean?”

Bruce turned around to face him, face warped in utter confusion as to how Tony got from point A to poing P. “Huh?”

Tony suddenly felt aware of the critical eyes watching him. “If someone came back from a fight, and they were having a hard time breathing, and were almost keeling over, what would you say it was?” he asked, trying his best to casually walk over.

Bruce rubbed under his eyeglasses. “Tony, I’m a radiologist. Not a medical doctor.”

“Yeah, but in your professional ‘doctoral’ opinion?”

“I don’t know,” said Bruce with a shrug. “Punch to the diaphragm? Asthma? Shell shock? Cracked ribs? Punctured lung? You’re going to need to be more specific than that.”

“No blood.”

“Well that narrows it down to some,” Bruce spoke, utterly deadpan. “If it looked like breathing physically hurt, but he wasn’t wheezing, I’d say a cracked rib or two.”

“How would you go about fixing it?”

Bruce shrugged. “Set it and wrap it up? You really can’t do much in the chest area without doing some serious damage to vital organs.”

“And that’s bad, right?”

Bruce forced out a frustrated breath, rubbing the skin under the pads of his glasses. “Tony, it would really help if I could see the guy.”

“You can’t.” Bruce absolutely could not see ‘grease monkey’ without Steve knowing about it. And Steve absolutely could not know about this.

Bruce sighed. “Well then, tell them to take some painkillers and call me in the morning if it continues to hurt.”

“You got it doc.” Tony gave a salute to his hired muscle as he descended back down to the basement to continue his interrogation.

Pepper checked her watch. “Obie is supposed to come down to check on you sometime, something about telling you how the board meeting went.”

Tony quickly turned his attention to his pet projects.  None of that mattered right now. “If you see him, tell him I’m not home at the moment. Don’t want to ruin the surprise. Diagrams and pictures on the wall might not give him the right idea. Iron Family stuff and all that.”

Tony heard her mentally groan. “I’ll see what I can do to keep him out of the shop. If you need me, I’ll be buried up to my ears in paperwork. ”

Tony smirked. “Thank you Peppermint.”

As soon as the clacking of shoes disappeared, Rhodey shifted a critical eye to Tony. Tony tried to avoid it by rustling stuff around to create a busy façade, but Rhodey wasn’t buying it for one second. “One of ours?” asked Rhodey.

“Friend of a friend.” Tony turned his attention back to the wires. Why did this construction require so many connections? The next project he chose to work on, definitely less complicated. Something easy and simple with no wires. Maybe a sandwich.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

They sat there a few minutes, Rhodey giving Tony the accusatory eye and Tony pretending it didn’t exist. Eventually, he got tired of the look. “What?” he asked, not bothering to look up from the wielding.

“Friend of your gal?”

“No,” Tony said, trying to stop the conversation.

But, Rhodey was having none of it. He tried again. “Friend of Steve?”

Tony’s fingers stopped moving. “Does it matter?” He tried to sound as emotionally removed as possible.

“What do you think Tones?”, he asked, cocky assurance laced into every word.

Tony thought about it. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, sealing off the circuit. “It’s about to become a non-issue anyway.”

“Why? You breaking up with him?”

Tony threw down his tools in defeat. “What’s the matter with you? No, I am not breaking up with him. We weren’t together to begin with. I’ve known him less than two weeks and only seen him for a few hours during that time. There is no way we could be together.

Rhodey had a very satisfied look on his face. Like the cat that just caught the canary, he had it all figured out. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Tony was not going to give him the time of day. “What in the world makes you say that?”

“Just saying, you’re starting to show.”

“Show what?” Tony asked in disgust, almost scared at what the answer could be.

Rhodey tapped his chest, right over the arc reactor would be.

Tony’s body tensed in apprehension. “Screw you Rhodes. I try to be the mature adult for once in my life and you accuse me of carrying my heart on my sleeve?”

“To be fair, you do and you are in no way mature.”

“I take offense to that.”

“You avoid vegetables at all costs.”

“Brussel sprouts are disgusting and you know it,” Tony shot back.

“Tony,” Rhodey put a stop on their tangent discussion. “I’m just worried about you. We all are. About a lot of things: Stark Industries, the Iron Family, but this is different, and new, and…” his eye darted back and forth searching for the correct words. Probably something that didn't sound like fag or fairy. “Are you sure he can accept you? All of you?” he asked quietly.

Tony shrugged in ambivalence and turned his back on the conversation. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to see him after tonight.”

This took Rhodey by surprise. “What?”

“It’s a very simple concept Rhodey,” Tony turned around once more to face his best friend. “I see him tonight, say goodbye, and move on with our lives. We focus on the mission, kill the sons of bitches that did this to me, and ride off into the sunset like the badasses we are.  Look Rhodey, I’m trying to do what’s good for the family. For once, I’m trying to be the responsible one. Can’t you support me in that? I’ll even throw in a smoking hot babe for you to fly into the sunset with. You okay with blonds?”

“Not the point Tones.”

“A black girl then? I can manage that.”

“Tony!”

“What?”

“You’re avoiding again.”

“Oh, you noticed! I thought I was doing it very well.”

“Tony!” Rhodey stood up and yelled in a clear sign of aggression. Tony should have taken it all back, but he knew Rhodhy well enough to know his best friend wouldn’t go through with acting out his rage. Despite all the signs present: clenches fists and teeth, tense shoulders, short breath, Rhodey wasn’t going to win this fight and they both knew it. It wasn’t even something worth fighting about.

It took Rhodey a few shallow breaths before he released his anger. He hadn’t forgiven Tony for derailing him (far from it if past memories were anything to go by) but his posture relaxed enough for Tony to assume he would let the topic go for now. Rhodey ran a hand against the back of his neck. “Do you think this is right?” he asked in a soft voice. “All this. I know you don’t go out of your way just for anybody.”

“I know it is,” replied Tony.

It had to be right. Balancing his debts. Saying his goodbyes. It sounded right in his head. So why didn’t it feel right in his heart?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy belated Canada Day and Happy 4th of July! May Captain America find your chimney and bring you that bald eagle you always wanted. 
> 
> I was going to say this is one of my longest chapters ever and that we'll go back to shorter chapters after this, but my revised draft of chapter 8 says a big fat no. Basically, btw chapters may be late because after the next chapter, it's brand new writing.
> 
> Now, I can finally see Age of Ultron! I'm so excited! As always, thank you kuailong for the beta! 25k! Woot! Never thought I'D make it this far.


	7. A Night to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets ready for a rum run, but just as they're about to leave he finds a surprise at his doorstep.

Steve didn’t know if he wanted to shake the Iron Family’s hand or shake them down. On the one hand, they had shaken Hydra up something fierce with the exploding heater stunt. (Took a lot of moxie and stupid to scare a group that big.) On the other hand, because the Iron Family rattled their chains, tensions were high and Hydra had become significantly more aggressive, short tempered, and volatile over the past few days. If the five-on-two ambush on Thor and Bucky was anything to go by, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that they were headed into an all-out war for the underground.

Iron Family stunt aside, Hydra was to blame for all the recent fuss. Kept doing stupid things like makin hits on big name families, little name gangs, even went as low as to attack civilian spots. Steve figured something big must be going down in the ranks, seeing as some of their agents were attacking their own hideouts, but for the love of all that was good and holy, he couldn’t be bothered to figure out why.

Steve’s guys had gotten jumped seven times since Bucky came in, not two days ago, with the shiner. Unfortunately, not all encounters were hand-to-hand combat like they were used to. More than a few guys came packing heat, and that was a major problem from the Brooklyn Boys. They were an bare hand type of gang for crying out loud! Even with the two handguns, shoddy rifle, and Thor with his favorite hammer, they were no match against Tommies and the various semi-automatics. They didn't have the money, resources, or connections to keep up with that type of crowd. Hence why they were still such a small name in town. Bootleg kept them afloat, and their good graces with the local neighbors kept them going.

It was a damn miracle that nobody got hurt bad in the scuffles. Couple of them still carried cuts, gun grazes, and bruises, but that was nothing compared to the througheral throttling Steve had given to a group of four that decided (on a whim funny enough) to come at him that morning. Steve’s crowd looked good all things considering, but if fingers were a bit more twitchy and eyes a bit more shifty than normal, Steve tried to pay it no mind. They had a job to do and he couldn’t allow personal feelings to get in the way.

If Steve had his way, he would happily put off the delivery of fresh bootleg if that meant he could keep his crew safe. But with the number of customers they retained after all that crazy shit, he couldn’t take that risk of losing their business. They needed the money.

“Everything ready for the run?” asked Steve, doing a last minute check of the product. He rattled the neck of a bottle around in the crate, checking for any unnecessary movement.

“Everything is in order Captain,” reassured Thor.

“Good,” said Steve. He gathered his crew: Thor, Jane, and Bucky, around the deserted warehouse for one last pep talk. He had entrusted Sam with lookout duty and debriefed him before the others arrived. “Remember everyone, no unnecessary risks. Get the product to the customer, and get the hell outta dodge. We don’t want Hydra coming down on our asses.”

“Gonna be a long night if you have us running around in pairs,” grumbled Bucky.

“We cannot be too careful with the threat of an enemy combatant,” reassured Thor. “Tis better to be cautious than find our comrade’s face in the morning paper.”

He saw a few nods of approval and Steve felt a little more at ease. Even the greatest tacticians needed a little reassurance that their “run and hide” plans were valid options. He felt like a coward setting everyone in pairs when he knew they were more than capable of taking care of themselves. But with valid threats on the cusp of an underground war, Steve wanted to take no chances. Pairing Bucky with Sam and Thor with Jane was the best he could do with their crappy situation. Thor had a bad habit of taking dangerous risks for, as he put it, “The glory of battle!” and Bucky was still recovering from the five-on-two-beating he took two days ago. He needed Sam and Jane paired up to keep tabs on his two loose cannons.

“And what about you?” asked Bucky. “How come you get to be all special and go by yourself?”

Steve shrugged. “Someone’s gotta sacrifice for the team. It’s not like a capable body is just going to come a knocking and offer assistance.”

Bucky raised a questioning eyebrow. “We taking bets on this?” he asked, completely serious.

Steve only sighed. This was no joking matter, and Bucky being an ass wasn't making things any better.

“Yo Cap!” Sam yelled as he dashed down from his lookout.

“We all set to go soldier?” Thank god for distractions. Questions about his strategy were really not something he wanted to deal with right at that moment.

“Just about,” reported Sam as he joined the group. He danced around a bit on the balls of his feet. Nervous energy? Sam was always down for a run or whatever you threw at him, but there was something eating at the guy. Steve was about to ask for an explanation as Sam spilled the beans. “There's just, there’s a guy Steve. Right outside our door.”

“A guy? What kind of guy?” Steve’s body tensed up. Good guy? Bad guy? ‘All hands on deck’ alert kind of guy?

“Don’t know,” Sam said with a shrug. “He ain't bothering nobody right now. Except he keeps pacing back and forth in front of our door like something’s wrong.”

“Like he’s waiting for something?” asked Jane.

“More like he can’t make up his mind.”

"About what?" asked Thor, tightening his grip on Mjölnir.

"Don't know. Question of the night, I guess."

Steve’s brow furrowed. Who the hell would be out this time of night? With a practiced motion, he cued to his crew for quiet as he reached around to the small of his back. As rehearsed, his crew quietly scattered to their designated defensive positions. Hand settling on the thick metal handle, he crept over to the door. Sam was close behind, both hands clutching a handgun aimed at the floor but ready to shoot. Once his back was fleshed against the brick wall and his breath steady in anticipation, Steve gave his crew the sign and all parts flew into action like the well-oiled machine they were.

Sam got the door, jerking the knob back and using the wood as a shield. Steve lurched forward and grabbed the surprised man by the front of his shirt. He pulled the man in, throwing him to the concrete floor with no remorse. Sam slammed the door and Steve aimed his gun right between the man's brows.

"Tell me what you’re doing here or splatter your brains across the floor."

"What?" asked a rather indignant voice.

"You heard me," said Steve trying not to be distracted by how familiar the voice rang. This was not the time or place to get caught up in fantasies. He pulled back on the safety. The familiar click brought back his focus. "What the hell do you think you’re doing on prancing around a place like this? You think you can just walk in and do whatever the hell you want?"

"God Steve," said the voice. "If you didn't want to see me that badly, you could have just said so."

"Tony?" Steve's mind slowed down from the adrenaline filled high. The mess of brown hair did look familiar. So did the goatee. So did those dark chocolate brown eyes. He staggered back in surprise. Steve could hardly process it. There, splayed out on the ground, was Tony. Perfect, wonderful Tony.

A burst of warmth filled his chest as a pit of guilt pooled into his stomach. Tony had found him. Tony had found him of his own by his own volition, and Steve had greeted like he was a sack of worms. Way to go Rogers. Way to let the pressure of being boss get you so far down, you can’t tell the difference between friend and foe. Tony looked so baffled. He needed to do something to fix this. Not pointing a gun at the guy would be a step in the right direction.

"What the hell are you doing here?" his voice borderline hysterical. Smooth Rogers. Real smooth.

"Trying to give you a present,” Tony said with a smile. “But I guess I'm not welcomed here since..." he gestured to the barrel trained toward his head.

"No! No. You're fine. Just caught us at a bad time," Steve said, motioning for Sam to put the gun away. Sam gave him a confused look, but did as he was ordered. "How did you find us?"

"Your neighbor," said Tony as he slowly pushed himself up and brushing the dirt of a large package. "Sharon's a sweet woman. Saw me knocking at your door and told me where to find you. But for an operation like this," he motioned to the crates of bootleg that just so happened to be sunning themselves in exactly the wrong place. "You really should get better security."

With the stress from life pushing down on him, it would have been natural for Steve to lash out and yell something about ‘not knowing what the fuck they were talking’ about before giving them a thorough facelift. But with Tony saying it in his joking sort of way, Steve blushed pink with embarrassment. "Yeah," said Steve, with a guilty smile as he rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand. "We're working on that."

Steve heard the familiar cocking of a gun and his shoulders dropped. He really didn’t need to be dealing with this right now. "Buck," he said, not letting his eyes wander from Tony. "Put the gun away. We have a guest."

"You sure we can trust him Steve?" asked a voice from the catwalk that ran the length of the warehouse. Knowing Bucky, he was already laying down like a cat with the crosshairs of their only rifle focused in on Tony’s head.

"I'm sure," said Steve with a smile. "After all, he game me his number." That got a relaxed smile out of Tony and didn’t that give Steve the nicest buzz.

“And I'm supposed to believe you just because he gave you his digits?” Bucky yelled from his position.

Steve groaned in frustration. “Bucky, stand down,” he called in clear exasperation. “You saw him the other day. He's harmless. He's an engineer for crying out loud. Not like he'd have a reason to have it out for us.”

“Should I take offense to that?”

“No. Why would you take offense to that?”

“I don’t know. It seemed like something to take offense to.”

“Well don’t,” a stern voice chastised the three men as if they were arguing children. “We don’t want to ruin a perfectly good evening.” A hand popped between them, breaking the tension. "Jane Foster," she said holding out her hand for Tony to take. Thank god for Jane and her instincts.

Tony smiled. "Tony Stark," he said with a devilish smile. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t like being handed things.”

Jane took a step back. "The Tony Stark?" she asked, mouth agape. She didn’t seem to mind that Tony hadn’t accepted the neutral gesture.

"Unless they changed the name on my birth certificate," replied Tony with a playful shrug.

"Oh my gosh!" Jane looked like she was about to pass out with excitement. "I read your paper on engineering technology for astrophysics, like four times. Do you really think it's possible to create telescopes that see beyond time and space?"

"Wouldn't have written the paper if I didn't think so," he replied with a smile. Steve suddenly felt very out of place. Jane spoke ‘Tony’ and Tony spoke ‘Jane’. Steve felt a strange need to pull his shoulders back and stand at full height despite Jane being more than a few inches shorter than him.

Jane didn’t seem to notice. "And I heard somewhere that one of your doctors wrote a paper on advanced radiology. Not that I could understand much of what Doctor Banner wrote, but his theories are mind blowing."

"You should meet him in real life.” Tony’s stance was relaxed and there was a twinkle in his eye that Steve had never seen before. “Not the suave scientist he seems like on paper, thank you editors, but still just as smart. He'll blow your mind if you give him the time.

“Really?” Jane was almost jumping out of her shoes with excitement.

“Would I lie to a pretty doll like yourself?” Tony asked, smooth as a con-man.

"Okay Tony, that's enough." Steve wasn't feeling jealous of Jane. He absolutely was not. He pulled Tony away from where the group was slowly gathering so they would have some semblance of privacy. "What the hell are you doing here?" he whispered.

"You already asked me that Steve.” Tony replied as casually as if Steve had asked him about the weather.

"I know, but really? This couldn't wait until tomorrow?” Or the day after? Any time other than this would have been much better than right now, just as he was about to deliver something very illegal.

"I just, you know…” Tony averted his gaze and the highs of his cheekbones flushed pink against his naturally pigmented skin. “I wanted to see you while I still could."

The tension in Steve’s body melted away. Tony wanted to see him. He came all this way in the middle of the night, just to say ‘hi.’ He felt like a fool for feeling this way, but knowing that he was special enough for Tony to come out of his way to visit, it made all the troubles in his life slip away for a second.

Wait, what was it that Tony said? "What do you mean by 'while I still could'? Are you leaving town already?" asked Steve, feeling panic latch onto his lungs.

Tony faced pinched in shock. "What? No!” disbelief was clear on his face. “I'm just getting really busy with the orders from work. Lot of people are count on me and I don't have as much time to socialize as I would like to."

Oh. So work related. Steve could deal with that.

"I brought you a gift to keep you busy until I get back." Tony handed over the large present wrapped in the evening paper. The edges were a little damaged from the scrabble and some of the paper was tearing.

"Just wanted to say thank you for the inspiration the other day. Couldn't have done it without you.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets after handing over the package, and slouched over “I didn't know what to get you, but the lady in the shop was super nice in suggesting what to get."

Steve weighed the present in his hands. It was light for its large size, but still had some bulk to it. The larger present was rectangular in shape, but there were some smaller bumps shifting around inside of indeterminable shape. With adept fingers, he slowly separated the paper from the tape. As he pulled the paper off to reveal the gift, Steve’s mouth dropped open. All he could do was look at the thing and take it all in.

Steve’s stunned silence seemed to unnerve Tony. "If you don't like it, let me know. I mean, I like it, but I don’t know if you like it. I heard artists are picky about their supplies. I can whatever you usually get instead if you want. Or something better. I'm sure I can get something better for you, but it might take a few days with my work schedule,” he rambled. “Maybe something from France. I don’t know how many places are selling art supplies right now, with the depression and all, but I’m sure I can find something you like. France is home to all the great artists, or at least that’s what Pepper says, so I’m pretty sure they have some quality supplies there too.”

Tony stopped abruptly and dipped his head so he could look up at Steve’s face. “Steve, you okay?”

"Tony," Steve breathed the name like it was precious life on his lips. "It's perfect." In his hands, Steve held the highest quality sketch pad he had ever seen. How many times had he pinned after that earthy brown cover as it stood steadfast like a soldier in the storefront window off 3rd street? Every time he passed it, Steve always lingered a few seconds more than necessary to marvel at the quality before moving on his way. It was a dream, like so many others, that he had left only for fantasies because of his reality. He didn’t have the time. He didn’t have the money. And yet, he was holding it in his hands. A pad of sketch paper and a set of expensive charcoal sticks. The firm thickness of the pages pressing against his fingers reminding him that, yes, this was real.

"Tony," it seemed like the only coherent thought Steve could say. "You really didn't have to.” A part of him was yelling to give it back. Steve didn’t need charity from Tony, and he didn’t have time to dwell on such trivial things when the gang was supposed to come first in his life. But his hands held on tightly to the supplies as he brought the pad up to his chest. The solid surface pressed into his chest like it was meant to be there. No matter what his brain was telling him, Steve didn’t want to let go.

"Yeah, I really did.” Tony’s voice was soft to Steve’s ears. No air of superiority. No malice or anger. Just Tony. Steve liked that. “But, you know, maybe you can pay me back by making me the first person you put in there."

Well, it certainly wasn't going to be the only sketch of Tony Steve would draw in the book. He already was making plans for each stick of charcoal. "Yeah," Steve said in a soft voice that was almost too soft for his own ears. "That would be nice"

A loud cough broke returned Steve to his surroundings. When had everyone gathered around them? And why weren’t they busy with something else right about now?

"I hate to break up your lovely get together,” Sam said, stepping forward from the congregated group. “But we've got deliveries to make and I want to snag this new guy before Steve insists on doing the run on his own."

“What?” Steve and Tony asked in stunned unison.

"Yeah.” Sam smiles that little crooked grin of his. “Hey new guy, how would you feel about doing a rum run with me?" he asked with a wink.

Steve’s brain slowly began to process the situation and realize how bad in an idea it was. "What? No. Sam, we can't have a civilian running around." There was absolutely no way Steve was going to let Tony get in harm’s way. Especially with Hydra out there and all up in arms.

"Sure," Tony agreed with a casual shrug.

"What?!" Steve could hardly believe his ears. Did Tony know what he was agreeing to? This wasn’t as easy or innocent as a walk in the park. They could all go to jail for this.

"Alright, I landed the cute guy." Sam did a little celebratory dance.

"No, Sam.” Steve came down hard on the idea. “I absolutely forbid it."

"Oh come on Steve. This way you get to go with Barnes. You're always doting on him. Might as well give you two some quality time alone, if you know what I’m saying.”

"Not the point Falcon," he growled. He and Bucky weren't like that and Sam knew it. He had no reason bringing that up in front of Tony.

"What is the point then?” Sam asked with a taunting shrug. “Going in pairs so we don't get surprise mauled?"

"Exactly.” Steve moved so his body blocked Tony from the others. “Tony isn't used to this kind of thing. He'd be better off with someone else.”

“Uh, standing right here Steve.” Tony’s objection was lost in the heated debate.

Sam pushed his shoulders back to stand at his full height as he made his way into Steve’s space. “Someone else who stronger than me? Someone more capable than me?” Sam’s sharp brown eyes bore into his.

“Exactly,” replied Steve, holding his ground. He was the leader of the Brooklyn Boys. It would take more than a word or two to make him back down.

“Well, I don't see anyone else lining up to take care of helpless little Tony. Looks like I'm the best you got.” Sam said, all sass and no give.

“Of for Pete’s sake, Sam!” Steve was a hair's breadth away from reading him the riot act.

“Fine!” Sam threw his hands up in defeat. “If that's how you want to play, you take Tony and I'll stick with Barns.”

“What? Am I just not a part of this conversation?” interjected Tony.

“Fine.” Steve verbally pushed back, ignoring Tony’s complaint. “You take Bucky and I do the responsible thing and take Tony home.”

“But we have a run to do,” interrupted Jane.

“Fine!” yelled Steve. He had had enough of this conversation and was determined to shut it down once and for all. “I'll take Tony on the run with me, and then I'll take Tony home. Everyone happy now?” he scanned this crew with hardened eyes, daring them to object to his final say.

“Well, now that you have a partner for the run, it does put us more at ease,” said Thor.

Steve blinked in shock. “What?” They were going to accept his decision just like that?

Everywhere he looked, there were smiles on all faces. "Reverse psychology," smirked Sam. "Works every time."

It took a moment for everything to sink in, but when it did, Steve was mortified. What in the world had he agreed to? There was no way in hell Tony would ever agree to do something this crazy and illegal in the stupid wee hours of the night. His eyes darted to Tony for some sort of repelled reaction, but Tony was strangely calm. He didn’t look the least bit bothered that he was asked to go on a rum run (maybe he didn’t realize what a rum run was) and he looked almost pleased at the prospect that Steve was taking him.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not taking you out of this, am I?”

Tony grinned that same mischievous grin Steve had seen on day one. “Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’ like bubblegum. That one word reply sent a small shiver of energy down Steve’s spine.

Steve groaned. Raking his fingers through his dirty hair, he tried to come to terms with the situation. Logically, he could do this. He could take Tony on a rum run and everything would be okay. It was just one run. Steve knew the routes like the back of his hand. There was no way anybody would catch them.

“Fine.” He gave in. “But you gotta understand.” Steve tried to break the news as easy as he could. He wouldn’t get a second chance at this and he wanted Tony to fully understand the gravity of the situation. There was no way of getting out of shit this deep. “There are some guys out there, really bad guys doing really bad stuff. It's not safe to go out alone this time of night. I don't know how things were in Boston or how things are in Manhattan, but you really need to be more careful here.

“I'll take you on the run. I'll do all the work, all the heavy lifting, and then I'll take you home. You don't have to participate in any part of this, okay? I'll make sure you do nothing illegal. And if anybody asks any questions, I'll take all the blame.”

"You sure that's a good idea?" he heard Bucky whisper.

"Shut up. It’s sweet," Jane whispers back. And Steve doesn’t even what to think about what that meant.

Tony smiled and took a few steps into his space. "Steve, do you think I'd still be here if I wasn't okay getting my hands a little dirty. I mean, we drank bootleg out of two mason jars. Can't get more criminal than that,” joked Tony in a low voice. The words felt like dancing fingers along the back of his neck.

Steve smiled. "Yeah," he murmured in a voice low enough that only Tony could hear. "We're just a couple of rebels trying to take on the world with nothing but homemade gin and some art supplies. Look out America. We might be the next criminal power couple."

Steve barely noticed when Tony responded in an equally low voice. “Well, if there was anyone I'd want to be as my other half of a criminal power couple, I'd like it to be you.”

And didn’t that just make Steve’s heart flutter like butterflies in migration.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, we have run out of pre-written chapters. Sorry about the delay on the chapter. Having a birthday weekend made of suck.
> 
> Quick thanks to my beta kuailong. They're in the process of moving, so we may or may not have a betaed chapter 8. Chapter 9 is still in the works and Chapter 10 does't even exist yet. So if I have to miss a deadline or two, you kinda know why.
> 
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	8. Where Did the Party Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, it ain't here, that's for sure. 
> 
> It's a Hawaiian roller coaster ride, but with less fun and more guns.

Running wasn’t that bad. Tony rather enjoyed the dark quiet of the Brooklyn cobblestones. Present company helped, of course. He still thought Brooklyn was shit; however, running down the cool dark streets, delivering booze as if they were a criminal Santa Claus was a nice break from his daily activities. People didn’t come racing after them, demanding crazy things from him left and right. It was just a simple trading of goods, maybe a familiar word here or there, and then onto the next stop. No fake smile. No business agreements under the guise of a hundred dollar a plate party. It was quiet. It was nice.

True to Steve’s word, he did all the work. Steve expertly drove down to the roads without any assistance of headlights (illegal, but so was the cargo). Every couple of minutes Steve would stop the car, pull out some cargo, and then the two would haul ass to deliver the goods a few blocks from their parking spot. Steve said it was so the coppers would have a harder time tracking them. Tony thought it was so Steve could see could get a laugh out of seeing him haul his outa shape ass across town and back. None of the rum runners Tony employed at Malibu went this far. Why should they? But Tony was in no position to say anything like that. To Steve, he was a simple engineer. And engineers weren’t well versed in the world of rum runs. And, to be perfectly honest, Tony preferred to keep it that way.

“Steve, let me help,” Tony wined, kicking the wooden crate Steve had so delicately told him to ‘sit and stay’ on. “Please?” Tony pushed out his bottom lip and quivered it for extra effect. They were on their last stop for the night and Steve had insisted they walk it instead of drive.

“No,” said Steve, moving their last crate for the night into a hidden door at the back of an unnamed shop. “Your job is to sit there and keep watch.

“But I wanna help.”

Steve rolled his eyes and his lips turned up in a fond smile. “You are helping. You got the money out of the hide-box”

“No I’m not,” moaned Tony, flopping down onto his side. “I’m just standing around looking at your fine ass.

Steve tripped on something. It couldn’t be uneven stones. The ground looked completely smooth in the dim light. Maybe a stray rock…“Tony!” Steve yelled, recovering from the fall with amazing grace.

“I know,” pouted Tony. He rolled on his back to mask the heating in his cheeks. “Not appropriate, but don’t expect me to apologize.”

“If you did, I’d wonder if you had been replaced by an evil twin,” Steve muttered.

Tony smiled. He liked that about Steve. Steve was just so easy to talk to. Didn’t matter that Tony was essentially flirting with a person of the same sex, Steve took it all in stride. He didn’t yell at Tony for being a ‘goddamn fairy’ even though he didn’t mean it. Well, maybe he did mean it a little. But it was refreshing all the same. There were very few people that lit up Tony’s world, and Steve was slowly working his way into becoming one of them.

“I have to wonder though,” Steve closed the hatch with a gentle thump and pulled Tony out of his day dream (or night dream. Or was it just a dream since it was already night time?) Steve rubbed the back of his neck with a large calloused hand. His body was directed at Tony, but his eyes were darting around to everything but him. “Why are you so okay with the fact that I’m…well, we’re-”

“Rum runners?” supplied Tony. Steve looked like he was having trouble finding the right word. His heart fluttered at Steve’s embarrassment, and Tony quickly smothered the tiny thought that Steve looked cute when he was at a loss for words. “You said you weren’t getting much work as an artist. It would make sense that you found another way to subsidize your income. Don’t blame you. Could be involved in a lot worse. Like organized crime. Or gang wars.”

“Yeah,” said Steve with hesitation in his voice. There was a flash of something complicated on Steve’s face, but in the blink of an eye the emotion was gone. Tony was okay with that. He could wait until Steve was ready. Trust took time. Tony held his own secrets close to his heart (Rhodey might even say ‘literally’ close to his heart) but Tony understood. Maybe, one day, they could be in a place where they could be honest with each other. Maybe after Tony was out of the mafia business. He didn’t think Steve would approve of that.

Steve shuffled his feet, big shoulders hunched over when he said, “I should take you back now.”

Tony’s heart dropped. “Yeah,” he agreed. He had enjoyed their time together so much, it was a shame that it had to end so soon.

The escort back was slow and quiet. Steve probably didn’t even know where they’re going. He certainly didn’t ask for an address. Not that Tony would give him one. He wanted to keep Steve as far away from the truth as possible. Both Stark Industries and the Iron Family. The named had slipped out one too many times, and he liked that Steve was clueless about who he was spending time with. It made their time together all the more special for Tony knowing that Steve was content spending time with him as a person and not wooing him for his money.

However, he needed to end it all now, for Steve’s sake as much as his own. Steve was an innocent in all this, and with Pepper finally making some headway in the paperwork department Tony couldn’t take any risks about Steve knowing too much or getting kidnaped and held for information. For the sake of the Iron Family and his company Tony had to focus on the mission and not his feelings.

Steve was special. He made Tony’s steps lighter and his heart sing whenever he was near and long after they had parted ways. Steve’s presence alone made every moment they spent together special and bright. Tony would be damned if he lost that. After Steve dropped him off (wherever that was) Tony planned to leave Steve in radio silence until the shit storm passed. In the grand scheme of things, better to lose him now and hope for forgiveness than to lose him forever in a power struggle and beg for his life as Steve’s life blood flowed down the river. Maybe, if they were lucky, they could pick up back up later. Obviously, Steve would be mad that Tony had left him in the dust. Maybe even livid, but Tony would slowly coax Steve to see his side of the story. How he was a martyr in all this white collar, mob boss mess, and Steve would come round.

But first, they had to part on good terms so Steve could see that Tony wasn’t the bad guy. His present of art supplies somehow didn’t feel like it was enough. They were nice, but it still left him feeling unsettled. What else could he do besides straight up giving the guy money? Wait… Now there was a thought.

“So,” he started, trying to ease the tension as they walked down the poorly lit backstreets of Brooklyn. “You having money problems?”

Steve sighed, the tension surging back into his broad shoulders. “Just because we’ve hit a dry spell doesn’t mean we have money problems.”

Yeah, like that wasn’t code for ‘business is going belly side up, and I have no clue what I’m going to do.’ Tony threw his hands up in defense, acting as nonchalant as possible. “Okay. Fine, guess I won’t refer you to one of my friends who's looking to get a little something extra for his big shindig.”

That clearly caught Steve’s attention. “A little something extra?”

“Yeah,” Tony tried to play it off as casual conversation. Steve didn’t need to know that the friend he was speaking of was Iron Man of the Iron Family. See Pepper, aliases are useful. “One of my friends is opening a new business in a couple of weeks, and they asked me to look into some local providers to help them celebrate. You wouldn’t happen to know any, would you?” he heavily hinted.

“Well, I don’t know,” Steve drew out the slow contemplative words like saltwater taffy. Tony almost doubled over with laughter. Steve looked like he was really considering the possibilities of other prohibition providers. Face all scrunched up, looking a little green in the gills.

“I’m talking about you, idiot,” he said, swinging his way in front of Steve’s path. He couldn’t hide the smile on his face even if it killed him. “You get me the number of who you provide for, and I’ll make sure you get the run of your life.”

Steve froze in his tracks. For a second, Tony reveled in Steve’s lack of works and the look of utter joy that spread across his face as what Tony offered sunk in. “Tony, you really don’t have to,” Steve stuttered, trying to graciously deny Tony’s gracious offer.

“Steve, I want to,” he said with a gentle smile, meaning it with every particle of his being. Steve was amazing in all iterations of the word and Tony, well; Tony wanted to do everything he could to let the world see how amazing Steve was. If Steve would let him, Tony would scream his name from the rooftops and paint his name in the sky for all to see. He would relinquish all power just to have Steve fuck him hard day in and day out for the rest of their lives.

Something low, needy, and sinful pulsed below his gut. His mouth watered in anticipation, and Tony decided for one stupid moment that he would take the plunge and do something not responsible. With a low suggestive voice, he took a step closer to Steve. “And, just for the record, when I want something, I usually get what I want.”

Steve chuckled and it made Tony’s heart melt into a pile of goo. “You say that to all the pretty dolls?” he asks in an equally deep, quiet voice. He moved closer, eyes downcast, but not looking down at Tony.

“Only the ones I’m interested in.” And didn’t that just come out as easy as water on his lips.

At that moment, Steve looked perfect under the dim streetlamp. The contours of his face highlighted in golden light, a light dusting of color on his cheeks that could easily be mistaken for an affectionate blush. A small white cloud of warm breath in the cool, spring night that swirled carelessly in the air between them. In stupid bravery, Tony gravitated closer to Steve, in hopes of catching that cloud with his mouth. Steve’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move away. Tony saw the heaviness of each breath in the night air as each cloud grew larger and denser with each second. Tony’s own whitened breath merged with Steve’s, and wasn’t that just perfect.

Closing his eyes, Tony took it all in. The scent of crisp morning air and cold sweat, the heat radiating off Steve’s body, almost inviting him to come closer. Their hands brushing against each other as tiny sparks of contact jump between their fingers. A ghost of lips, close to his, mercilessly tempting him to give in and take a bite. Tony let out a breath and felt the air effortlessly roll off Steve’s parted lips. High off the light feeling inside his chest, Tony followed the script to reach out and couple their lips together, but abruptly stopped.

There’s a whistle off in the distance and reality hit him like a cold body on the floor. He can’t. He shouldn’t. And it broke his heart to pull away and plant his heels firmly on the cold wet ground. Events were coming to an impasse and he could barely stand the idea of Steve’s stiff body, frozen and fractured on the ground all because he chose this once not to be responsible.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice came out as no more than a whisper. He looked at Tony under lidded eyes, pupils blown wide into dark pools of desire.

A delicate hand reached for him, but Tony pulled further away. A chill ran through his body. He felt so cold. Curing in on himself, he tried to repair the damage he’d done.  “I’m sorry Steve. I can’t… I’m not… I didn’t mean it.”

Steve blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about Tony? I thought we were…” Steve’s strong, warm fingers reached out and ghosted over Tony’s arm. He jerked away, the heat searing into his body.

“No!” Tony insists, cradling the touch closer to his body. There was no way he was going to let Steve touch him now. Whether it was punches of disgust or touches of reverence, Tony wouldn’t be able to resist, and he needed to resist everything about Steve with all his might. “I just got caught up in the moment, that’s all. Just try to forget about it.”

“Tony-”

“I like girls Steve!” he yelled, trying to convince himself more than Steve that it was true. “I always have, and I always will. So just do yourself a favor and forget everything that happened. Please.”

“No,” Steve was looking away from Tony like the filth that he is. “Did you hear that?”

The white noise of his frenzy began to dissipate. “What?” he asked, voice somewhere between hysterics and a cautious whisper.

The dark blue of Steve’s eyes danced around the streets in agitated anxiety. “That bird.”

Tony’s ears perked up and his breath quickened. “What bird?”

Then he heard it. The familiar cooing of a pigeon, but there was something. The pitch was a little higher than usual and pigeons weren’t known to be out at this time of night..

“That bird,” Steve whispered.

Tony listened again, waiting for the inevitable sign that a particular person was to blame for the call. Form a darkened street he heard a soft crack followed by a grunt and a thump of something heavy falling. Hawkeye.

Tony tried to forget the ‘almost’ kiss as he made his way to the edge of their sanctuary of streetlight. If Hawkeye chose to alert Tony, now of all times, he need to be calm, collected, and a responsible boss, not a panicking mess about coming out as gay. “Steve, stay there,” his voice is still a bit shaky, but his assurance stabilized his warbling emotions.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Steve’s voice was reserved and hesitant.

“Just stay there Steve,” insisted Tony. The last thing he needed was Steve getting in the way and shot down by a stray bullet.

Tony wandered close to the darkened border, his heart racing. He looked into the darkness trying to spot anything out of the blue. A quick scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary. But upon a second scan, he caught something moving behind a black Ford. He looked away, keeping the Ford in his peripheral. Then, in the corner of his eye, he caught a glint of a moving reflective surface. Shit.

“Get down!” he yelled, seconds before a bullet buried itself in his arm. He fell down from the impact, clutching in arm in pain as flower of blood began to bloom through his shirt and jacket. A desperate warning cry of “Tony!” was lost amidst his own screams of pain. He had been shot before, but experience never blunts the surprise and shock at the initial injury.

He dug his palm into his shoulder and rolled over on his injured side, trying his best to put pressure on the injury and lessen the blood flow. Bright sparks from following shots danced by his face as he tried to plan his next move. He curled in on himself and tried to drag his injured body to safety. A few bullets leave burning grazes through his clothes and on his naked skin. He cowered behind a wooden crate and soon enough, the shots of gunfire had stopped, and the sound of breaking bones replaces the silence.

Steve! What had happened to Steve? He looked around and saw Steve getting jumped by three guys. Two had his arms restrained and the third went for the body hits. Blood was running down over Steve’s eye, and he was already bent over in pain. Tony dug his fingers into the ground. He had to help Steve. Steve didn’t deserve to deal with this type of shit.

But as Steve slowly looked up to face his attackers, a determined glint in his eyes, Tony realized that Steve could hold his own against the random thugs. With a free leg, Steve kneaded the oncoming attacker in the groin. The guy crumpled to the ground with an earsplitting scream. Steve pulled his right arm hard, and forced the two guys on his arms to collide. The guy on the ground slowly got up, but Steve was more than ready. With solid, strong strikes he decked the guy in the face and lands another in his gut.

Damn, Steve could fight.

A punch to the face distracted Tony, and the pressure on his bleeding right shoulder was gone. Tony tried to regain focus, but whoever was straddled over him was going to town anywhere above his waist. Tony attempted to cover his face, but at this range it was impossible to miss. Each shot rattled his skull and he felt his life force slowly draining out from the hole in his shoulder. A stray punch hit the arc reactor, buried under layers of protective clothes, and both exclaimed in pain. Metal dug into his flesh and Tony felt very much the need to right himself and adjust the device.

The goon above him beared down and grabbed Tony by the collar. Clumsy fingers tried in hopeless desperation to claw his way out of the man’s grip. Pulled up toward the stinking bastard , Tony got a face full of spit from loose lips. “What the hell did you do to me?” he sneered and Tony can see him trying in vain to clench his injured hand.

Tony was ready to give up and just let the guy have at it until the cows comes home when a large mass streaked overhead, knocking Tony’s assaulter to the ground. Tony barely caught himself from falling at an odd angle with his injured arm. The lightning bolt of pain surging up his body sure didn’t make the catch worth the effort. Face twisted, his mouth dropped open in silent agony.

Tony only glimpsed the end of the fight as Steve let out a battle cry and shoved the assaulter’s face into a brick wall. It’s almost pitiful seeing the guy flail about as Steve ran him headlong into every hard surface he could get his hands on.

When Tony’s attacker finally slumped to the ground and didn’t try to get up, Steve whirled to face him. “Can you run?” he wheezed. His lips were cracked and his face was flushed. Spatters of blood decorated his face like bright red freckles.

Tony tried to confirm that he was capable, but it came out as a pitiful whine. He rolled over on his good shoulder and tried to stand. Strong hands gripped his blood soaked clothes and pulled him up the rest of the way.

“Stay with me Tony,” he murmured, as he rushed them away from the four groaning bodies as fast as he could. As they made their escape, Tony spotted a fifth unconscious body with a purple arrow sticking out of their back. Steve took them down a dark alleyway, and Tony noticed many more long purple sticks sticking out of various objects and people. Despite the darkness he could see the remains of a dense gas dissipating into the night.

Damn. He was so going to have a word with Hawkeye about unnecessary stalking.

* * *

 

He remembered their escape as no more than a blur of shadows, red bricks, and dark corners until Steve set him down against a wooden crate. Tony looked around with lidded eyes. He has no idea where they were. Only that there was a bright white light above, white washed walls, a back door, and the sounds of an infrequent wind down the alley. Probably meant they were close to a main street and traffic.

“How are you doing Tony?” Steve’s face was covered with blood, grime, and worry. The puffs of air from Steve’s don’t seem as sexy as they were a few minutes ago.

“’m fine,” Tony said, barely moving his lips. “All numb now.” The arc reactor still felt strange in his chest, but everything else was a pulsing numb sensation.

“Yeah, guessing that’s the adrenaline talking,” Steve said breathlessly. With adept hands, he ripped the edge of his shirt to make a patch to stop the blood.

“Steve, I’m fine,” Tony insisted. He tried to push the makeshift bandage away despite how heavy his tongue felt.

Steve pushed back. “I’ll believe it when I see it, but for now all I see is blood.”

“You sure that’s not yours?” he asked, eyeing Steve’s bloody fingers and purpling knuckles. He tried to lift the sides of his lips at the cruel joke, but his body seemed to be set on ignoring him.

Steve smirked. “Pretty sure that belongs to the other guy.”

“It isn’t that bad,” Tony insisted as Steve wrapped the cloth around his blood soaked shoulder. Tony was referring to his own injury. “Been through worse. I think the bullet’s still in there.”

“I don’t want to know what worse is,” Steve said, tightened the cloth around the entry hole. Tony’s face contorted in pain, and then fell into an easy smile. Oh the stories he could tell. He’d have to tell Steve all about them one day. Knowing Steve, his face would most likely drain to a chalk white and he would insist on hanging onto Tony for days on end. Tony was above those showy types of affection, but for Steve, he’d let the man indulge. That is, if there was anything left of their non-existent relationship after their ruined ‘date’.

“That’ll have to do for now,” said Steve, tying the cloth as tight as possible without causing Tony any excessive injury. “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!” Tony’s objection came out louder than he wanted. He couldn’t go to the hospital. He couldn’t let people find out about the reactor. If news of the arc reactor technology somehow made it into public knowledge…

Steve wasn’t so easily convinced. “Tony, you’re bleeding out. I don’t know what else to do or how much blood you’ve lost. We need to get you to a hospital so they can take a look at you and patch you up.”

“Less than a pint,” Tony said with a groan as he tried to push himself up. “I’ll be fine. Mostly in shock right now, so it looks worse than it really is. Bullet is stopping a lot of the blood from coming out, so bleeding to death is not how I’m going to go out.”

“You’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you.” Steve looked up toward the light and then back at Tony like he was trying to decide the lesser of two evils. He bent down, and laid a hand on Tony’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m going to get us a cab. Wait here until I get back,” his voice was quiet, as if trying his best to reassure the both of them.

Tony smirked. “Don’t think I’ll be going anywhere on my own anytime soon.”

Steve’s smile came out as forced. He looked in Tony’s eyes, looking for something, but for the love of God, Tony couldn’t figure out what. Steve’s face changed to that of one with resolve and pressed his lips against Tony’s. It’s too short, too much pressure forced onto one area, but feeling Steve’s plump pink lips against his own made Tony melt upon contact. “For the record, I like girls too, but I also like you,” he whispered, face already flushed to the max as they broke apart. “Be back soon.”

Steve rushed off without another word and Tony was left to sit in shock. Steve had kissed him. Actually properly fucking kissed him. He sat on the pavement in shock. For all intents and purposes, time had stopped for Tony. The physical pain had long been forgotten in lieu of emotional embarrassment.

What the hell? He was Tony fucking Stark! He was the one who made the first move in a relationship. Smooth lines, flirty suggestions, a kiss on the lips after a first date of wining and dinning always got him the girl. But here was Steve who plowed through all Tony’s expectations, destroyed his carefully crafted plan to come back to all this later, and kissed him like it was the best date ever and one of them wasn’t bleeding out on the street. Damn it! Steve wasn’t supposed to move this quickly.

The sound of slow confident steps from the dark of the alley brought him back to his painful reality. He tensed and tried to right himself. Had the person seen it? Was he ousted as gay for good? Tony blindly reached for something to defend himself. His hands clenched a small, well weathered, rock and he held it up toward the oncoming person.

“Whoever you are, stay back!” he shouted; granted it would sound a lot more threatening if he wasn’t panting for each breath.

“Easy,” said the guy. “Just trying to help out.”

Tony let out a breath of relief and dropped the rock. “Damn it Hawkeye. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Hawkeye came out of the shadows, a confident smirk plastered on his face. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t keep running off on your own all the time. I know you’re stressed, but damn, that kiss.”

Tony groaned. Nothing got past Clint no matter how hard Tony tried to hide it. “Saw all that, huh? Guessing your here to submit your resignation since your boss is a confirmed bachelor.”

Clint snorted in amusement. “No. I’m here to submit a complaint that you get your ass kicked way too much. I don’t get paid enough to deal with this kind of shit.”

“Take it up with Pepper.”

“Pepper is the one that asked me to look out for you.”

“You could always ignore her.”

“And face her wrath when shit like this happens and you bleed out? I’d very like my balls intact for various recreational activities.”

Tony laughed at that, only stopping when the pain was unbearable.

Clint took pity on him. “Come on. Let’s get you to Bruce and patched up.”

Tony huffed. He really didn’t want to leave without giving Steve a proper goodbye, but the slow growing wetness on his shoulder was becoming a good reason to go. “He’s going to expect me to be here when he comes back.”

“Already taken care of,” reassured Clint.

Tony conceded with a grunt as Clint swung a supporting arm around his shoulders. Tony hated getting up on that ice cold table that Bruce always said was ‘room temperature’, but he needed to get fixed sooner than later.

“Did my eyes deceive me, or is that the same wonder bread you were eying a few weeks ago?” asked Clint, making conversation.

Tony froze. “I thought you of all people would know.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “I can’t know everything. That’s Phil’s job. Ever since you put me and Rhodes in charge of opening up the new store, and Pepper’s settled me with babysitting your ass because you do stupid things when left to your own devices, my snooping time had dwindled down to zip. Gotta have someone else fill in the blanks every once in awhile. ”

Tony wanted to be relieved at the news, but he was worried about Steve. If Clint spilled about the incident (even by accident) Steve would be the one in trouble, not Tony. Because of his position and money, Tony would only have to worry about a few unsavory rumors passing between party tables and business would continue as usual. However, Steve was a working man. If Steve’s employers, present or future, ever found out it would be goodbye employment and goodbye social standing.

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” asked Tony, his voice quiet with shame for his selfishness. If he hadn’t tried to kiss Steve the first time, none of this would have happened.

Clint shrugged, trying his best not to jostle Tony too much. “It’s your story to tell boss.”

It was his story to tell, but he wouldn’t. It was Steve’s story as much as his and Steve had much more to lose than Tony ever would. Unless Steve spilled the beans first, Tony would take the secret touch with him to the grave.

* * *

 

“Ow! Watch the merchandise?” Tony clenched the edge of his seat, trying his best not to squirm away from the pain.

“Well, I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep running into trouble all the time.” Bruce was doing his best to patch Tony up in the middle of Tony’s lab. Clint had indignantly dropped Tony off at the doorstep of Stark Industries before taking off to clean up the mess they had left back in Brooklyn. Bruce reached for the needle amongst the bloody tools and bullet. “Mind telling me what you doing in the middle of the night to get a bullet wound in the shoulder? I thought you were trying to avoid firefights.”

“I am.” Tony winced in pain as the needle pierced his skin. “But these things just happen sometimes. I went out for a walk, just minding my own business, and a guy just happened to jump me.”

Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow. “You went out by yourself and a random guy just steps out to shoot you in the shoulder for no apparent reason? Must be some walk if you had to take it in the middle of the night. Do you realize how much of a bad idea that was? What if Clint hadn’t been there to save your stupid ass?”

“Do you want me to answer that, or is it just rhetorical?”

Bruce jabbed a finger into a freshly purpling bruise. Tony stifled a grunt of pain as he doubled over the injury. “You’ve got the underground up in arms because of us, and yet you think it’s a good idea to go wandering around the city with no backup. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you lost your mind.”

Tony shrugged as he tried to shake it off. “There was always that eighty eight percent chance that Hawkeye was stalking me.” Because that was a thing that Clint did on a regular basis even outside of Pepper’s requests. Tony had yet to catch Clint in the act when he was trying to stay hidden, but Clint always had a way of knowing stuff that he shouldn’t know unless he was spying.

Bruce glared at him. “And a twelve percent chance that he’s not,” he said, pulling on the string a little harder than necessary.

“Ow! Don’t be so rough.” Tony flinched in pain. Yeah, this was going to hurt like a motherfucker for a long time.

Bruce shrugged the feedback off like it was nothing. “Think of it as a reminder not to get injured so often. Don’t want the pain, don’t get hurt. Negative reinforcement. With all the time you spend on my examination bed, you’d think you would have learned that lesson by now.”

Bruce clipped the end of the last stitch and Tony rubbed at the sore injury. “I hate you,” he grumbled.

“No, you don’t,” Bruce rolled his eyes in amusement. “But if you’re looking for a scapegoat, might I suggest our resident marksman.”

Oh dear god. “What’s he done now?” he asked, prepared for the worst.

Bruce smirked. He motioned to what Tony had dubbed as the ‘thinking wall’. It was basically a wall that Tony used to throw ideas at and see what stuck. Assorted and disjointed ideas hung from wall as well as some bits of string showing connections because Tony was too lazy to move around the drafts and diagrams. Smack dab in the middle of the wall was the newspaper that featured Iron Man’s burnt helmet scar. A purple arrow jutted out from the wall, pinning the print to the surface. In bold red ink, someone had drawn a big red heart next to Iron Man’s helmet and scrawled message. It read:

 

     “Dear Wonder Bread,   
     I destroyed this for you. I hope you like it!”

 

Tony stared at the rag for a minute in complete silence. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, trying to find his words again. “I’m going to kill him,” he finally said with disbelief. “I’m going to kill him, you’re going to help me hid the body, and nobody will be the wiser.”

“It’s just a joke,” Bruce reminded Tony.

“It’s a bad joke,” he snapped.

“Well,” Bruce criticized. “If you put it in a certain light, it really does look like a love letter. A very messed up letter.”

“You agree with this shit?” If Tony had full functionality of his arms, he would have thrown them up in exasperation. “That’s it. Barton is starting a mutiny. He’s going to get you all on his side and then, when I least expect it, you’ll assault me in my sleep and dump me on the side of the road with only a banjo to keep me company.”

“If we did do that, I’d at least make sure you had some sheet music so you have something to travel by,” said Bruce, cleaning up his supplies.

“Always looking out for me Bruce.”

Bruce huffed. The ridiculous things his family did that he silently put up with. “Why do you even care?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I don’t,” Tony replied a little too quickly.

Bruce raised an eyebrow in skepticism. “Really? You’re going to murder him over something you don’t care about.”

“Yup.” Tony said, popping his ‘p’ as carelessly as bubble gum.

“And if I don’t believe you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

Tony leaned forward with a playful smile. “I’ll hang you for mutiny too.”

“Cute,” Bruce muttered, brushing off the comment. As he was quietly put away his supplies, another question came out. “Is this about that doll you’ve been seeing lately?”

Tony smile disappeared. He didn’t expect that question, but he tried feign disinterest. “Is that the only thing that you guys talk about anymore?” he asked, hopping down from the table, trying to act nonchalant. “But because I’m in a good mood, I’ll answer your question. No, it’s not some doll. Why do you ask?”

Bruce shrugged. “Well, for one, you’ve been in a better mood right now than you have been in days despite the fact that you had to sit still for stitches. And from the wounds, I can only assume you were trying to defend someone's honor.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Even I’m not that chivalrous.”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” defended Bruce. As if Tony’s ego needed defending. “I’m just saying that, whoever is doing this for you must be worth something.”

Tony became deathly still. Despite the pain of his wounds, he still felt the phantom heat on his lips. Steve had kissed him and risked it all despite the possible fall out if Tony didn’t return Steve’s affections (which was stupid because Tony was a little head over heels about Steve). He had done that despite the firefight, patched him up, and gone as far to try to go for help without a second thought. Steve was worth everything, and yet Tony put him in danger just by being around him.

Even if they met up again, despite Tony’s intentions to keep his distance, Steve would always be in danger. Tony’s name, the mafia family, the company, his money, the arms that he sold, they would all be reason to use Steve as leverage to get to Tony. Heaven knew what his angry rivals would do make Steve talk if they got their cold sweat hands on him. Tony had certainly employed a few unpleasant techniques in vengeance against the Ten Rings Gang. Torture, kidnaping, starvation, interrogation; he couldn’t do that to Steve no matter how strong the temptation to return the kiss. Tony had to stay focused on the mission. It was the only way he could protect those he cared about.

“Meaning something and having something are two different things Bruce,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know if you’ve looked at my life recently, but I can’t have nice things. I’ve done too much bad to have anything nice from this world. Whatever we have, and I honestly don’t know if we have it, I’m sure it will fade soon enough.”

“Don’t say things like that,” said Bruce. “You may have done a lot of bad to get where we are, but you’ve done a lot of good too. Look at me. Look at what you’ve done for the family. You provide opportunities to those who many never get them in a lifetime. How many other employers or bosses give black people or women the same amount of respect and money as everyone else?”

Bruce placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. “There is good in you too, and you deserve good. And if the time comes where you want to introduce us to someone important, we’ll always be here to support you and protect them, no matter what.”

“Yeah, about that support,” Tony said, taking advantage of the easy tangent and away from the awkward and confusing conversation that is his love life. “I’m going to have to take you up on that. I need you to do a beer tasting for me. Now before you make any excuses, I’ll arrange everything beforehand so all you need to do is show up and taste the stuff.”

“Doesn’t Pepper usually deal with that sort of thing?”

“What? I can’t take the initiative once in a while?” Honestly, Tony would rather have calm Bruce dealing with it (make a good impression) than strict Pepper. He didn’t want Steve at the wrong end of a barrel if things went belly side up for some reason.

Bruce eyed him warily. “No, it’s just unusual.”

“Well don’t get used to it,” Tony said, trying to act as if the request was something as boring as a milk run. “I’m only doing it this once”

“Favor for a friend?” asked Bruce.

“No.”

“Favor for your doll?” And where had he heard that before?

The phone rang, and Tony thanked whatever god was out there distraction. “None of your damn business,” he shot over his shoulder as he danced his fingers over the receiver.

On the fourth ring, Tony picked up the phone. “You’ve reached the living replica of Anthony Edward Stark. Your call will only be answered if interesting enough,” he said, spreading the sarcasm like a thick layer of butter. He really didn’t want to be dealing with stuff this early in the morning. Getting shot in the shoulder made his feelings even more so.

“Tony! Is that you?” Stane’s crackling voice yelled over the din in the background.

“Obie?” Tony covered his ear to hear better. “Where are you? What the hell is going on over there?”

“They liked it Tony!” yelled Stane. He could practically hear the wide grin stretching his face.

“What?” he tried to remember what Stane could be talking about. “The helping hand?” It was hard to believe the investors would give that piece of scrap metal the time of day. It was just a theory that had been forced to the back burner because of everything else, but Tony had every intention of finishing it; provided biologists and engineers could get their heads out of their asses long enough to provide him with solid research.

“Yeah. They liked it so much that the wanted to start production immediately.”

The hairs on the back of Tony’s neck bristled. He leaned over the workbench, brow furrowed. “Obie, what did I tell you. That tech isn’t ready yet.”

“Don’t worry Tony. I took it to R&D to have them refine it,” Stane replied with careless confidence.

Tony almost lost it. “You let them touch my stuff!” he yelled into the phone. “You know I hate it when R&D touches my stuff. They always add things that are a pointless waste of space and take away things vital for effective operation.”

“Well whatever they did, it works great. We’ll be able to send out the first shipment in a few weeks.”

Tony’s pulse quickened. He tried to stay calm, but the tension in his voice betrayed his outer cool. “I don’t think you understand, so let me say it clearly: that the plans I gave you are nowhere close to being ready yet. I don’t care what adjustments R&D made, to core mechanics aren’t stable and that means nothing else added on could be usable.”

Stane yelled into the phone, “What? I can’t hear you. They’re working on setting up the factory.” Tony got the feeling that Stane was intentionally trying not to hear him.

His vision narrowed as if he were talking to Stane face to face. “Obie, shut it down, right now,” he ordered.

“But Tony-”

“No!” Tony exploded. “It’s my product and I didn’t not give the okay. It’s my name on the line, not yours, and I have the majority of the share in the company. I don’t care if you are a friend of the family. I will fire your ass right here, right now if you don’t stop production immediately.”

Stane didn’t answer. The enduring din of machines and metal over the phone line was about to make Tony sick. He didn’t want this. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with. As he began formulating a plan to drive down himself and destroy the shop once and for all, a loud silence took over the line.

He heard the familiar clicking of a moving headset as Stane picked up the receiver. “I hope you know what you’re doing Tony.” Stane’s words held an edge of animosity instead of caution that Tony had expected.

Tony let out a heavy breath and rubbed a free hand over his face. They were safe, for now. Didn’t matter what Stane felt. It wouldn’t matter in the big picture. “Bring me the specs and any adjustments R&D made. I’ll take a look at them when I have a moment,” he said, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Understood,” Stane said curtly. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Fine.” Tony slammed down the receiver, glad to be done with the conversation.

Bruce cautiously approached his frustrated boss. “You okay?”

Tony’s response was a heavy sigh. So much for his plans. If he didn’t want the company to go under because of a bad idea, he had to make sure there was still a company when he woke up in the morning. That meant making sure the tech Stane was working with never reached the market as well as last minute conversations with investors and other boring cardboard cutouts. God, retracting a patent was a nightmare. “Tell Jarvis to start equipping the lab for long nights. It doesn’t look like I’ll be leaving anytime soon and I’d rather not die of starvation.”

He looked around at all that he had to do: keep his company afloat and in the dark, plug the leak in his company, finish the suits, maintain his commitments to the Iron Family, start up a new business, follow up with the booze deal with Steve, and keep Obie in the dark about everything.

“It’s going to be a long week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bed!!!!! :D And a friend is visiting from the states, and I get to go to Tokyo and Ikebukuro and Comikit, and I have to take a 4 hour test... wait... what?
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! Doing much better this week. Release of Chapter 9 is in the air. Since I'm visiting family the 3rd Friday/Saturday this month, I'll either post a clip or short chapter on Aug 22nd or I'll hold off until September since Chapter 9 is a monster of words right now.
> 
> Thanks to kuailong for being awesome!   
> Follow me on my tumbler and see all the shit I reblog and maybe a story or two about my adventures. [[link]](http://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/)


	9. Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where did Tony go and what does Joe know?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send a belated happy birthday to my beta [Kuailong](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuailong/pseuds/Kuailong) if you can. They've work really hard and I could not have done this without their help.

Running out and down to a busier street, Steve tried to wave down a cab. Precious seconds ticked by as cars whizzed on their merry way. It took forever to Steve to spot the familiar shape of a taxi car and even longer for him to finally attract the attention of the driver. Looking like a filthy, bloody mess didn’t help any in attracting people to help him. When he was finally able to get a cab to sit and stay, he ran back for Tony, praying to God that the guy hadn’t bled to death.

“Tony!” Steve called ahead, hoping that he hadn’t passed out. The blood stains on the ground and the stark white wall were the first thing he noticed. The second thing he noticed was that Tony was nowhere in sight.

Steve whirled around, looking for clues. “Tony?” Steve yelled into the darkness. He couldn’t have gotten that far. Could he? Tony said he would stay put. Could he have gotten kidnapped? No signs of a struggle and there was a lack of a blood trail, but that didn’t mean anything if Tony had passed out. “Tony!” Steve began to panic.

“Your friend is fine. He’s been taken to the hospital. Saint Mary’s if you want to check.”

Steve spun around to face the source of the voice. There was a vaguely shaped figure standing in the darkness. “Who are you?” he demanded, trying to control the concoction of emotions swirling in his chest. If this person had seen him kiss Tony, that could be bad news for the both of them.

An average Joe walked out from the darkness. He looked harmless enough; dark suit, receding hairline, friendly smile, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that made Steve feel twitchy. It was as if he was being analyzed under a magnifying glass and all his little secrets were being scrutinized with interest and in great detail. “I’m not surprised that you’re suspicious Captain Rogers,” the man said with a careless air. “You were just assaulted by Hydra agents and now a guy you’ve never seen before steps out of the literal shadows to tell you not to worry about your friend. In my defense, I’ve always wanted to do that. Bit of a drama queen.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Steve with defensive force. “Who are you and how do you know my name?”

“Consider me a concerned party,” the man replied. If he had a cane, odds are he would twirl it with a relaxed ease. “Who I am and who I’m affiliated with doesn’t matter. However, I will offer this piece of advice, free of charge.” His face darkened and his posture became taught. “Stay away from that man Steve Rogers. Nothing good will come associating with that type of person.”

Steve bristled. “If you so much as hurt him-”

“I assure you, he’s in the best of care,” the gentleman replied, voice and posture returning to a non-threatening default. “Our organization has no intention of doing him any harm. However, the one you should be concerned about is you. Your ‘association’ with that man could land the Brooklyn Boys in a whole heap of trouble you’re not even close to being ready for.”

Steve had never met this guy before, but he knew that Steve was part of the Brooklyn Boys gang. That bit of information wasn’t common knowledge. Steve’s breathing slowed and his focus narrowed. This guy clearly wasn’t another Joe and Steve needed to be ready for whatever Joe threw at him. With a low, threatening voice, he tried to get to the bottom of it all. “What do you know and what aren’t you telling me?”

Joe shrugged his shoulders in passive interest. “Enough to keep you alive, if that’s what you’re concerned about. But not enough to get you into trouble. And I assume, from the size of your street gang and the size of your pocket book that you’d like to stay out of trouble.”

That was the last straw. In one swift move, Steve had pinned the up guy up against the brick wall.  Steve had his forearm at the guy’s throat and a blade poking into the soft flesh of Joe’s belly. The guy didn’t even flinch.

“Listen Joe,” Steve snarled. “I’ve had a pretty bad night all things considering, and if you want to stay in one piece, you’re going to tell me who you are and who you work for.” He lightly pushed the blade passed the cloth for emphasis and felt a reassuring red warmth trickle down his fingers.

Unlike most people Steve had interrogated in the past, Joe didn’t break a sweat. With slow and careful hands, the man reached into his breast pocket. “Phil Coulson. Information broker for The Daily Shield,” he said, slowly relinquishing a business card.

Steve let up on the pressure on the guy and took the card with his blade wielding hand. He blinked in confusion. This side was blank. He turned it over and that side was blank too. Quickly, he moved to try and get better lighting on the card. Maybe it’s in that really fancy ink that only shows up in certain light. He spun it, and again nothing.

 “Hey!” He’s was about to yell at Joe Phil for giving him a fake card, but there’s no sign of Phil anywhere. Steve spun around in agitation, but sees neither hide nor hair of the guy.  This was bad. He ran a few paces in the direction Phil would have gone, desperately looking for some clue as to where he had taken Tony. It was unnerving how much the guy knew, and for Tony’s sake Steve had to stop the guy before he could do any more damage to Tony’s reputation.

Steve tried to look for a trail of blood splatters, but everything was squeaky clean.  No sign of Phil and not a single sign what had happened to Tony or where Tony had gone. Running out of breath, Steve slowed down and tried to collect himself. He twisted the card once more in his hand, reassuring himself that he wasn’t going crazy, he really had been tricked.

The warning resonated in his head like an annoying echo that wouldn’t shut up. Was anything Phil said true? Had to be. If it wasn’t, why would he seek Steve out in the first place? But that would be insane if what Phil said was true. Tony was an engineer fresh from another state. It would be impossible to stir up trouble within the few weeks Tony had lived in New York. Wouldn’t it? Of course it would! Tony was an amazing guy, so why would Phil of all people care to say anything? This wasn’t his fight and his people weren’t on the line. It would be Steve and Tony who would be the center of any fallout, so why should Phil care?

As Steve walked back to base, bloody and emotionally beaten, it all boiled down to one thing, something big was coming and Steve was clueless as to what it was or how to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait guys. Chapter 9 ended up being MUCH longer than could have expected (*cries at the word count*). And when I started writing Chapter 10, I realized I need to hold onto it a little longer. But this part is ready to go, so here you are!
> 
> I plan on posting the rest of "Chapter 9" by (the latest) first weekend of October. Have a good weekend kiddies!


	10. Put your Dreams Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deal goes down and shit starts to hit the fan.

Two weeks after the rum run, Steve found himself in front of a recently refurbished store front.

 “You sure this is the right place?” asked Bucky, skeptically eying the structure.

 “I’m sure,” reassured Steve.

 It was a nice enough place: a Victorian style window on the right hand side, wooden stairs that led up to a bright red door on the left. The place looked perfectly normal. But something felt off. Locals avidly avoided looking at the shop and found reason to quicken their pace as they walked past. Men and women were a bit shifty on the corners of the street, and the local brats were playing kick the can two alleys over instead of in the streets and in the way of traffic.

 Phil’s warning echoed in Steve’s head again, but he chose to ignore it. Tony had set all this up for him during his two weeks of what he called ‘workaholic hell’. Even if things turned south and the deal didn’t go through, the least Steve could do was meet Tony’s friends. Tony had done so much for him them; it would be rude to back out now.

 With a wave of his hand, Steve took his crew in. Following the familiar tinkle of a bell, the inside appearance was fairly subdued. The inside was a small little space with two hanging light fixtures highlighting the dark green walls. The sporadic furniture lying about made it confusing as to what the store was meant to be. A large, sturdy shelf stood empty, but at rapt attention behind a long island surface, sun-bleached so bad there was a well-defined dark brown square at one end. Must have been where the register went. There was a sad looking couch sagging into one of the far corner of the room.  From the wear and tear, pattern, and dirt ground into the cushions, it must have belonged to someone’s grandmother ages ago. A circular table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by a mismatched mess of chairs. Cards, chips, mahjong pieces, and cigarettes were scattered across the table, but there was a distinct lack of fresh smoke in the air.

 “And you’re sure the guy is going to show, right?” asked Sam, poking the cold ashes in the ashtray. Whoever had smoked was clearly long gone. “Because I heard Stark Industries is offering factory work if this doesn’t work out.”

 “I’m sure,” said Steve, looking around for any sign of what direction they were supposed to head next. “Tony said they should be here.”

 With a request for giggle juice, it was possible that they were supposed to meet were in a completely different room.  Considering that there was a dark painted door at the back of the shop hidden in the shadows, Steve bet his hunch was correct. With a leader’s confidence, he went over and nudged the smooth surface, expecting the door to be locked. Surprisingly, the door opened without as much as a squeak to a larger than life speakeasy.

 Passing through the threshold, Steve gasped in awe. It was much bigger than the shop front, no doubt about that. A main floor big enough to hold dances spread out in front of them and an open space with a balcony above, richly decorated in a vibrant red and gold trim reached out far above their heads. A large crystal and glass chandelier hung from the ceiling and Steve could only imagine what the place looked like when the lights went up for the night. The place screamed money and high class. He could almost see the shadows of well-dressed gents and fine dames milling about the floor, discussing politics and whatever else the upper class did as they sipped expensive drinks.

 Expensive drinks! Oh shit. Reality hit him like a sack of bricks. Without any indication, Tony had set them up with their first high profile client. Realizing the level of professionalism and discretion that was required when dealing with high profile clients, Steve suddenly felt nervous and very out of place. What the hell was Tony thinking recommending him to a place like this?

 “Tony, Tony, Tony,” mocked Bucky as they made their way into the secret back room. Clearly he wasn’t as intimidated by the architectural implications as Steve was. “You’ve been going on about him nonstop for the past two weeks. Hurry up and hook up already.”

 “Shut up Bucky,” hissed Steve.

 “What?” asked Bucky with a careless air.

 “Time. And. Place,” Steve spat out. He did not want his secret admiration thrown about as carelessly as a newsboy with the evening paper.

 “Why not?” asked Bucky, giving a nonchalant shrug. “Nobody’s here.”

 “I beg to differ,” interrupted a voice. Steve froze. Caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He tried to play it off as cool as he could, but a quick look around revealed that he wasn’t the only one feeling on edge.

 Out of the corner of his eye, Steve detected movement from behind a dark mahogany bar. A man in an intimidating dark gray suit stood up from the bar stool, his movements toward the group were slow but deliberate. Why hadn’t Steve noticed him before? The darkness of the room shouldn’t have prevented him from seeing such a large figure nursing a drink at a bar. He needed to get better at spotting people in the shadows. With quick breaths and sharp eyes, Steve tried to evaluate the strange form.

 The man looked normal enough; two arms, two legs, nothing bending in ways they shouldn’t. The three piece suit screamed new money. Sharp lines and perfectly fitted seams accented his height, size, and power in ways that normal clothes couldn’t. But unlike normal people, the man wore a familiar shaped helmet atop his head.  Steve racked his brain. Where had he seen that shape before?

 As an unassuming man with curly hair joined the group, it hit him. The Iron Family. The picture from the hit on Hydra. The helmet was the same shape as the picture in the paper. Steve was trying to try and strike a deal with the Iron Family. Tony had gotten him in contact with the Iron Family! Steve tried not to stagger back in shock. This was very serious levels of ‘not good.’ The Brooklyn Boys were trying to stay away from big names, keep out of the spotlight until things smoothed over in the underground. Instead, they were standing face to face with one of the newest, and seemingly, biggest name in the business. This was beyond the realm of ‘things not going according to plan.’

 “Sorry,” said the man with the curly hair. “My friend likes to make an entrance.” He held out his hand. “Doctor Bruce Banner. I’m here to taste your stuff.”

 Steve shook off the shock as best he could and took the hand in a firm shake. Of all the things he could fuck up, this couldn’t be one of them. Despite his disagreement for big time mafia families (epically his controversy over what the Iron Family had done in recent weeks) Steve could not screw this up. The last thing he wanted was an all-out war. “Call me Captain,” he said, voice surprisingly steady considering the revelation. “These are my associates, Thor, Winter Soldier, and Falcon.”

 “Code names, cute,” Bruce replied, though his tone held no hint of patronized superiority. “This is War Machine.” He motioned to the unmoving statue of a man. “He’ll be providing support if things go sideways.”

 Shit. Was this the same War Machine that Sam had told him about weeks ago? How much had Tony told them? The Brooklyn Boys were too small to need an armed bodyguard on premise.  The hell was going on to require something like this?

 “You expecting something?” asked Bucky, crossing his arms in suspicion. Apparently he didn’t get the notice that antagonizing the customer was a bad idea. Rule went double when dealing with mafia families. Went triple when dealing with mafia families insane enough to have robots at the head.

 Dr. Banner, to his credit, shrugged off the remark. “Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

 “And having an elephant in the room is what you call ‘being prepared’?

 Steve had heard enough. As much as he agreed with Bucky’s sentiment that the escort was unnecessary for dealing with small fry like them, Steve did not want to be washing blood off the walls all the live long day. “Stand down Soldier,” he chided. “Remember why we’re here.”

 “It’s just a standard precaution. Nothing to worry about,” said the good doctor, seeming thankful for another party trying to the keeping the peace. “If you’re still amenable to the idea, just step behind the bar and we can get started.”

 All eyes were on Steve. Should they go through with it? If word got out that they were dealing with the big dogs, a lot of people might start coming round makin’ trouble on their turf. 

Steve let out a sigh in annoyance. Ethics and personal feelings aside, they needed the money. Both Steve and Bucky had exhausted all other resources in trying to find alternate buyers with no luck. Besides, with Hydra already stirring up a ruckus practically every day, not caring if they hit lowlifes or civilians, they might as well go all in. Wasn’t like their situation could get that much worse.

 Steve gave an affirming nod and both Bucky and Sam, holding a bottle each, moved to the bar to prepare so Thor could pour the drinks. Steve stayed back to keep an eye on the operation. If the Iron Family insisted having extra eyes on the lookout for trouble, woe be it to the Brooklyn Boys if they didn’t follow suit.

 Just as Thor was about to serve the drinks, Steve heard Dr. Banner whispered something to War Machine.  “I know you have a problem with them. If I were you, I’d take care of it now. You know he won’t be happy if we can’t get along.”

 There was no sign of any emotion on War Machine’s mask, at least none that Steve could see after a quick sweep of his posture. But there must have been something there because the suit leaned over and whispered in a disgruntled voice, “He’s not here.”

 “All the more reason to get your affairs in order,” the doctor almost whispered as he made his way over to the bar.

 Steve’s brow furrowed. ‘What was that about?’ he wondered. However, his curiosity was quickly forgotten when War Machine sauntered over to his side. Steve stiffened, barely even breathing, as if the smallest movement would set the robot off. But nothing happened. War Machine, just stood next to Steve, crossed his arms, and watched the operation proceed as smooth as normal.

 Steve was about to release a breath of relief when War Machine choose that moment to speak.

 “So,” War Machine was apparently crap at starting casual conversations.  “You’re interested in a Tony.”

 That caught Steve’s attention right away. His spine straightened in anticipation for a fight. He tried not to look or feel too defensive. War Machine was just the hired muscle. His opinion on queers wouldn’t impact the likelihood of a sale, would it? In the pit of his stomach, he knew it could and that idea scared Steve more than anything. Not everyone in New York felt the same ways as they did about people being gay, bi, or other. Steve had faced his fair share of doors slammed in his face because folks were afraid to catch somethin’ unnatural. But it being Tony who had set everything up, Steve couldn’t afford to mess this up and ruin Tony’s good name.

 He tried to play it off cool. This wasn’t his first rodeo. He could control how he acted around others. But what do you said to a metal monster challenging your right to love a man, Italian or not. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Steve said, more flippantly than normal.

 “I do.” Because of course, a potential big money buyer had to have that problem.  “Leader of the Brooklyn Boys interested in Tony, seems like my business.”

 “Listen friend,” Steve said in a voice that was all but friendly. “I don’t know where you’re from, but in Brooklyn, loving someone for who they are or who they aren’t ain’t no thing. We may be a bit queerer compared to you folks in the Lower Eastside, but in Brooklyn if it ain’t your business, we don’t pay it no mind. If you or yours has problems with queers, or variants, or niggers, I best suggest you turn us down now before vicious words are the least of our problems.”

 War Machine’s hand precariously began to descend to a small bulge under his jacket. “Is that a threat I hear?”

 A spark of red flared up along Steve’s spine. He squared his shoulders and slowly circled the guy until they were face to face. Reaching into a back pocket, he flipped out a large pocket knife. Keeping it close to his hip, Steve twisted the blade in the little light available seeping in through the covered windows. Steve stared down the equally tall opponent, daring him to do something about it. “Do you bleed red?” he glowered, voice low like a predator ready to pounce.

 “Whoa! Easy there War Machine!” Bruce ran over to stand between the two men, hands held up as is ready to push back if things got heated (whatever little good that would do). “I’m the one with the anger problems, remember.” He tried to push the bodyguard back, but the robot didn’t respond. More the better in Steve’s mind as the Brooklyn Boys formed a protective circle around their leader.

 Steve didn’t need their help. He could take on Mister Metal with his eyes closed. His nerves were cool and his focus was sharp enough that it would be easy to beat him senseless. Slash that impeccable suit to ribbons before finding flesh soft enough to knead into a deep shade of black and purple with his bare knuckles.

 While it felt like hours, the robot eventually retracted back into a neutral stance. Sensing a calm from the robot, Bruce let his hands drop slowly with a deep sigh. “We don’t have any problems with vagrants, do we War Machine?” It was more of a challenging statement than a question.

 War Machine grumbled an inaudible in response.

 “Then what’s got his gears all rusted up?” accused Bucky.

 “Tony,” growled War Machine.

 “Is a non-issue at this point in time,” advised Bruce, putting his foot down on the matter once and for all. “We’re here for the booze, not personal agendas.” He turned to them, his body like a wall between the two factions. “You stuff checks out with me, but I need to take the bottles back for the other members of the inner circle to sample.”

 “I must object,” said Thor, a hand clasp tightly on his captain’s shoulder. “Taking of our wares with no guarantee of payment is not how the Brooklyn Boys do business.”

 Bruce swore under his breath and ran a frustrated hand through his curly hair. “Think of it as an investment.  Loose a little now, gain a heck of a lot more later,” insisted Bruce. “The Iron Family is very busy at this point in time, and as much as you don’t care for War Machine, we were the only ones available to accommodate you per Iron Man’s request. Once we check your stuff with the other members of the inner circle, we can further discuss details regarding perchance and delivery date.”

 “Wait, so you actually want our shit?” asked Bucky in disbelief.

 “I do,” said Bruce with relief at the temporary peace. “It’s actually quite good, and I know what the inner circle likes. Plus, Iron Man has already tasted your stuff and has insisted on paying you at least $2 a bottle.”

 “Are you shitting me!?” Sam nudged Bucky in the side, hard. With a wince, Bucky gave Wilson a hard glare. The bruises for the beating were still a sickening yellow coloring his sides. “What?” he demanded, unhappy at the harsh irritation.

 “Group huddle,” advised Sam.

 Slipping the shiv away, Steve joined the huddled circle of heads.

 “Well?”

 “Well what?” asked Steve.

 “We gonna take it or what?”

 “’Tis a compelling offer. Better than what we’ve ever been offered before,” said Thor.

 “Yeah, but at what cost?” challenged Bucky. “It’s not secret that when little guys like us start making deals with big guys like them, they get targets painted on the back of their head. An’ with what trouble the Iron Family be russlin’ up with Hydra; I’d rather not get caught up in that shit storm.”

 Sam’s eyes fell on their fearless leader. “Steve?”

 Steve felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He tried to sift through the pros and cons from a neutral position, but the answer had been clear long before the discussion of sexuality or money was brought up. Pulling out of the huddle, he faced Dr. Banner with steel determination. “We’ll take it.”

 “Wonderful.”

 “On one condition,” Steve sharply added.

 Bruce crossed his arms. “Let me guess, you want protection?”

 “Just the opposite,” said Steve, expecting the reply before it left the doctor’s lips. “We want your silence. The Iron Family has run into a few disagreements with some of the local gangs-”

 “Such as Hydra, and you don’t want to get caught in the middle when the shit hits the fan,” finished Bruce with an understanding nod.

 “Then we are in agreement?” Steve asked tentatively.

 Bruce considered the request and then acknowledged it with a brusque nod. “Need to run it past the inner circle, but it shouldn’t be too much of an accommodation. For now, keep your heads low. We’ll be in touch.” Taking the two samples in hand, he headed toward a flight of stairs down to a basement and, most likely, a get-away-car.

 “And next time, don’t bring the elephant” Bucky yelled after them, needing to get the last word in for the sole sake of pride.

 War Machine gave them a quick murderous glare before retorting, “Tell your Captain to keep his mitts off our Engineer and there won’t be anything to discuss.”

 As they listened to the heavy sounds of footsteps disappearing down into a basement, anxiety filling Steve’s chest with each passing second, Sam leaned over and whispered into Steve’s ear, “Who the hell is the Engineer?” 

“No idea,” replied Steve.

* * *

 “How the hell am I supposed to know a thing like that?” Tony asked. Steve had called to ask about the Engineer as soon as he could get to the local mom and pop grocery. It was the only place he knew that had a phone.

 “Uh… because they’re your friends,” Steve offered because only a dead man would not see the obvious connection. But considering the hours that Tony kept during these last two weeks of hell, he might be a lot closer to passing out and sleeping like the dead then Steve would like to admit. What did Tony say he was on? Thirty-two hours and his fifth cup of coffee. Not the best recipe for sanity. “And why didn’t you tell me you were friends with the Iron Family?”

 Something on Tony’s end fell to the ground with a loud clatter. “I’m not,” replied Tony, his voice slightly higher pitched than normal. “It’s just a casual association. Pulled a few favors for the boss. Nothing big.”

 “Well, tell me next time you set me up like that,” grumbled Steve. “Almost got chewed out because of your little surprise.”

 “Sorry.” He sounded authentically apologetic. “They didn’t chew you out too bad, did they?”

 “Well, I’m alive and talking to you,” replied Steve in playful annoyance.

 Tony snorted. “That’s an accomplishment.”

 “Don’t know,” said Steve, a playful smile on his lips. “It felt like the guy in gray was reading me my rights when we met up.”

 Steve could almost hear Tony squealing like a child on Christmas morning. “Wait! You met War Machine? Your boss took you to the meeting!? That must have been crazy! What did you think?”

 “Of the people?”

 He could practically hear Tony smacking his face in disbelief. “Of the place you idiot. Like it?”

 “It’s… um…” What was a delicate way to say it? “It’s ostentatious.”

 “In a good way or a bad way?”

 “No! Neither. It just is,” Steve sputtered.  Tony obviously care for the place, but for Steve- “I’m guessing it’ll look nicer when it’s all complete, but for now it looks like a confused mess. Like some of that modern art stuff you would find at a rich person’s house.”

 “So you don’t like it.”

 Steve let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m not saying that.”

 As he tried to think of a positive way to explain how much he didn’t care for the establishment (too rich for his blood) a knock came from outside the phone booth. “Sorry. I gotta go now. Racking up a line for the phone,” he mumbled to the receiver.

 Tony snorted. “You know, it would be a lot easier if you got a private line.”

 “And pay all that money so we could talk all day?” Steve tried not to laugh at the ridiculous idea. “As much as I enjoy our chats, I don’t have that type of money.”

 “I could help,” offered Tony in the same way he had offered so many times during their phone conversations.

 Steve tried hard not to blush. “And as I said before those multiple times you offered to pay for our calls, it’s fine. I can pay my own way.” It was always sweet when Tony offered, but Steve felt the need to pay his own whenever he could. Tony may claim to have deep pockets, but Steve still had his pride.

 “Well then,” Tony’s voice dropped and it was as if he was whispering a naughty secret in Steve’s ear. “You’ll have to let me pick up the tab for dinner the next time we go on a run. Just think about it Steve, pizza from Little Italy, a blanket, and the two of us under a dark starry night.

 Steve smiled. “Sounds like a date.” The words slipped out so easy, but by the time Steve realized what he said, it was too late.

 Tony’s side of the line had gone deathly quiet. If not for the white noise in his ear, Steve would swear that Tony had hung up on him. “Um,” Steve held the phone in a death grip. Tony sounded so small and quiet. Nothing like his usual larger than life personality. “You should get going. I got some people getting on my ass about work right about now.”

 Steve tried to gulp down the disappointment. “Yeah. I guess. Bye Tony.”

 “Bye.”

 Steve hung up with a sigh. He hadn’t even brought up the kiss this time. What was going on? Was he not reading the signs right? Any time Steve tried to bring it up or took a step further than causal flirting, Tony abruptly ended the conversation. Those first days apart were especially fun.

 Only a few hours after his encounter with the illusive Phil, Steve realized that he never got a reply from Tony. In his embarrassed adrenaline high state, Steve had planted a rushed kiss and dashed off to find a cab before he could get turned down. But would Tony have turned him down? Tony hadn’t kissed him back, he hadn’t said ‘I love you too,’ but he had definitely shown signs that he wanted to do so before the firefight that fated night. Didn’t he? The thoughts of doubt assaulted his psyche so bad that the next morning he sprinted to the nearest phone to call St. Mary’s Hospital.

 As it turned out Tony wasn’t at St. Mary’s (big shock there), but when Steve called the number on Tony’s business card, Tony answered the phone like nothing happened. He said nothing about his injuries unless prompted and whenever Steve even hinted at the kiss during those first few days, Tony  promptly hung up without so much as a ‘by your leave’.

 Over the past two weeks, Tony had gotten better about it all. And despite the mountain of work and stress that Tony found himself drowning in, Steve thought he was slowly working his way into getting a straight answer out of Tony. But after today’s call, he wasn’t quite sure. Tony seemed interested, but maybe he really wasn’t. Maybe Tony was just saying things to placate Steve. But that didn’t make any sense. If he was just trying to entertain Steve and his simple hope for something more, why would Tony go to all the trouble of getting Steve in touch with the Iron Family? It just didn’t make sense.

 “How’s the wife?” asked Sam as Steve closed the door to the grocery store behind him.

 Steve groaned. He really didn’t want to deal with this now. “Not now Sam,” he muttered.

 “Oh come on,” Sam egged on. “If calls were free, I’d bet you’d spend hours on end talking his ear off.”

 Steve snorted at the impossible possibility. “Wouldn’t that be nice.” Steve knew Sam was trying to make him feel better, but on a day like today, it just made him feel worse. There were moments when he felt so close and moments where it felt like there was an ocean between them instead of a couple dozen blocks of concrete.

 As they slowly walked back to their hideout, Sam kept sneaking Steve a look. “You should tell him,” he said, voice low and comforting against the white noise of the neighborhood.

 “I should tell him what?” asked Steve, almost exhausted at the suggestion. “That I miss him?”

 “That, and everything else.”

 “Sam-” There was no way in hell that Steve would tell Tony about his being the boss of the Brooklyn Boys.

 “He needs to know,” Sam insisted.  “He needs to know about how you feel about him and about the baggage you come with. Otherwise you two will get hung up over this whole gang business, and then you’ll spend the prime years of your life pining after him like an idiot.”

 “What if he doesn’t feel the same way?” asked Steve. The potential of rejection had hung over him like a gray cloud for the past two weeks. It’s why he didn’t try to push the kiss as hard as he would like. “It’s not like the casual hookups you find around here.”

 Steve could see Sam repressing the desire to scoff in disbelief. “Have you even seen how he looks at you? If either of you was a dame, you’d be making out against the wall right now.”

 “That’s just how he is,” insisted Steve. “I’m nothing special.”

 Sam rolled his eyes. “Look, you’re just going to have to trust me on this one Steve. I know people, and I bet you fifty cents that he’s head over heels for you.”

 Hints of a smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. It didn’t make the doubt go, but it was something to have someone rooting for him. “You have a bet running in this?” he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

 “Well,” Sam looked a bit sheepish. “I ain't saying my number is coming up.”

 Steve rubbed his brow, trying to contain a laugh in disbelief. "Sam-"

 “What?” Sam looked downright offended.

 “Why are you making bets in my love life? Don't we have our work cut out for us already?”

 Sam shrugged. “Nothing like a little bet to improve comradely. I've got three whole dollars on the line Steve. At least ask him if he's interested.”

 Steve would not buy into self-serving goading. But it never hurt to tease. “Well-”

 Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a suspicious black car pull up alongside. Someone rolled down the window as if to talk to them. Steve was about to stop and investigate, when his eye caught the glint of a barrel slightly larger than a cue stick.

 Hit the deck!" Steve yelled. He dragged Sam behind a fruit cart just as the bullets begin to fly.

 The two covered their heads as the rata-tat-tat of Tommies ripped through the air. The cart barely acted as a protective barrier as wood splintered in the air and fruit exploded like bombs.

 The first volley came to an abrupt halt. The distinct silence of units reloading stilted the fearful cries of civilians trying to get away. Knowing their opening would only last a few seconds, Sam and Steve scampered away from the cart as fast as they could and into the slight better security of a brick alley

 "Of all days to have a gun, I didn't expect to use it this way," remarked Sam, pulling out his firearm. He flinched as the second volley cut the air and the rain of bullets resumed.

 "Less talking, more shooting," yelled Steve as popping out when he could to let loose a random bullet in hopes of landing a hit. With only a side arm and a few bullets. Steve and Sam did their best to hold their own, but they were clearly outnumbered and outgunned.

 “Got any better ideas?” asked Sam, gray debris speckling the air.

 “Besides shooting until the Feds show up?” shouted Steve.

 “Feds ain't gonna show,” Sam yelled back. “That car belongs to Hydra. And they've got the commissioner in their pocket.”

 “How the hell did they manage that?” Steve could barely hear his own voice over the noise.

 Sam ducked out to fire off a few rounds. “My guess, Schmidt's got deep pockets now. Heard he got promoted to head of Hydra.”

 The loud noise was beginning to mute his hearing. “Why the hell would they follow a man like Schmidt?”

 “Have you heard him? Charismatic fucker.”

 Steve tried for a few shots, but they ricocheted off the car. “Charismatic, yes. Doesn’t change the fact that he's absolutely insane.”

 “If you actually listen to what he's saying, yeah. Most of the people at his rallies are too dumb to question what he’s preaching.”

 “Oh! So he’s grown from a minor nuisance on a soapbox to having rallies now, huh?” asked Steve, feeling the sarcastic rage build inside.

 "I'm out!" yelled Sam, retreating back from a last ditch attempt at a return hit.

 His own gun uselessly clicked back. “Same.”

 “What's the plan then Cap?”

There was a high-pitched clink on the ground, followed by a squeal of tires. Steve looked around the corner and saw familiar, green, hand held weapons rolling towards them. Steve looked up at Sam with panic on his face

 “Run!” he yelled.

 Steve had no time to worry about Sam. With grenades, it was every man for himself. He clawed his way up from the ground and into a run. His heart beat loudly in his ears as he tried to get as much distance as he could. Steve felt the ground shake before he heard the exposition. Ducking for the nearest cover, Steve protected his head with his arms as brick remnants and dust rained down on him. His entire body rattled from the expanding force as the cobblestone underneath absorbed and dispersed the shockwave of pressure out from the epicenter.

 When the piercing scream in his ears finally died down, Steve poked his head out from behind the wall. The level of damage alone made him gasp. What was left of the red brick alley had been reduced to rubble and a skeleton of fractured wood. Pipes and power lines poked out from the jagged rock, spurting out occasional bursts of water and sparks of energy. Rocks and rubble that were once strong brick buildings rolled leisurely down the walls and into the shaken streets below. Steve shuddered to think what it would have looked like with his blood painting the walls.

 “Steve?” Sam appeared, limping out from behind one of the brick walls that had survived the attack. Sam's already dark face was marred with dirt tracks, and his dark curly hair was heavily dusted in gray concrete dust. Steve didn't even want to think what he looked like.

 Steve slung one of Sam's arms over his shoulder to help him with the pain and give the guy a moment to catch his breath. “They ain’t messing around no more,” gasped Sam.

 “And they were before?” Steve didn’t want to deal with this. He really didn’t want to deal with this. He was having an okay day, all things considering, but this shit blew the debacle with War Machine out of the water. Hail Hydra, raisers of hell. What was he to do? What was he to do!

 “Steve.” Sam was trying to get his attention. His breath was heavy and his eyes were unsteady as he looked to Cap for guidance. “What do we do?”

 “I’m thinking okay!” yelled Steve. “I don’t have a contingency plan for everything that happens and I definitely don’t have time for dealing with this type of shit! I never dreamed that we would ever have to deal with the stuff the big boys deal with-” Steve paused, his brain processing

 “Tony. The Iron Family.”

 “Steve, no,” Sam warned. “I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.”

 Steve was breathing hard. He was out of breath and running out of tricks. “Sam, we have to.”

 “We don’t want that type of attention. This is how smaller groups get compromised. They go to a larger group for protection, and then they end up swearing alliance and losing their identity because of the larger group.”

 “Do you have a better idea?” asked Steve.

 They sat in panting silence, both considering their options. Steve was so close to giving up. If Hydra had access to military grade weapons, it wouldn’t be long before the Brooklyn Boys were wiped off the map and down the Hudson.

 “Go see Tony,” Sam said, winded. “He knows the Iron Family. He may not have access to what we need right now, but I’m betting he can get us what we need with the fewest strings attached. It’s underhanded, but if it’s true that he has some sort of strange, weak allegiance with the Iron Family, it might be our best shot to getting what we need to stay alive.”

 A black hole opened in Steve’s stomach. “I can’t use him like that.”

 Sam slouched over. “It’s either that, the black market, or death by slow extermination. Your choice Steve, but I don’t see many other ways out of this.”

* * *

 

 Sam whistled, giving the tall, shiny building a one up. “Damn, your man’s got the hook up.”

 “He’s not my man,” reminded Steve.

 The building Tony worked in was bigger and shinier than anything else around Midtown. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of windows sparkled in the light against the light brown of the brick building surface. An endless stream of well pressed suits ran in and out of the revolving front entrance doors. Everyone seemed in such a rush, it scared Steve to think that Tony worked with all this. They looked so professional, so much unlike him. Maybe he should have changed his clothes before coming here. There was a hand-me-down brow suit in their closet. Might be a bit small in the shoulder, but anything would be better than a rubble encrusted jacket and un-pressed slacks.

 “Go on in,” urged Sam, with a gentle nudge. “I’ll stay here. Going through the colored entrance will only slow you down.

 Steve gave a reluctant nod. He would rather not go alone, but with no sign of an entrance for colored individuals, it would be more of a hassle to force their way past security and into the white entrance.

 As Steve passed through the door, he gasped taking in the rich splendor of the lobby. The inside was just as eye catching as the outside. Spotless ivory and gold tile floors made the glowing columns rising along the walls, framing the room, looking absolutely magnificent. The ding of bronze elevators and people making small talk around rising streams of white smoke was a strange static that just added to the atmosphere.

 To the left side of the large entrance, there was a colored girl behind the reception desk, pecking furiously away on a typewriter. Surprised, Steve looked around for another reception desk. Nothing.  Anyone else behind the desk? Nope. Just a girl with brown paper skin and coffee brown hair typing away on something that one could assume was a very import document. Leave it to Stark Industries to be progressive and hire a colored girl to be the sole receptionist. Guy must have an iron pair setting up a situation where bigoted men would have to interact with a colored girl.

 Taking a deep breath, he approached the young woman at the reception desk. “Hi,” he said, swearing to anyone who heard that his voice did not squeak. “I’m looking for Tony,”

 She looked up, and stared him down with her dark brown eyes. “I’m sorry, who?” she asked.

 “Ah…” Damn. Tony had said his last name a few times. What was it? “Tony,” he said as uselessly tried to recall some semblance of a name. “Dark hair, brown eyes, about this tall?” His hand hung mid air like a floppy dead fish.

 “Sir,” her voice dripped with tired annoyance. “We have a lot of people that work here at Stark Industries, and not all of them stay for a very long time. Take me, for example. I’ve only been here for a few weeks. So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

 Steve groaned in frustration. “Tony! His name is Tony Something. He works as an engineer for you. He gave me a card with his number on it.” The card. Steve quickly dove into his jacket pocket. If he showed them the card, they would have to believe him. He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, never loosing eye contact with the clerk. With desperate fingers he reached, but nothing was there. His fingers danced around the small space, desperately looking for it.

 He couldn’t find it. The receptionist gave him a strange look. Steve smiled his most innocent smile and proceeded to pat down and empty all the pockets on his body only to come up snake eyes.

 “Ms. Johnson, is this man giving you problems?” A ginger dame equipped with heels that could kill sauntered up behind them.

 “No ma’am,” said the colored girl, standing up from behind her post. “He was just about to leave.”

 In a fit of panic, Steve grabbed the gal’s arm. “I need to find Tony. It’s important.”

 “Don’t worry Ms. Potts I’m calling security right now.” The girl grabbed a nearby phone and began cycling the numbers.

 “Wait,” said Red. Her inquisitive eyes gave Steve a once over. “You need to find a Tony. Describe him.”

 “Ms. Potts.”

 “I know every person on payroll. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out if he’s telling the truth or not. If he is,” She gave him a pointed glare in contempt, not bothering to hide the disdain of his large hand on her small arm. “Kick him out.”

 Steve gulped. This dame really seemed like she knew her stuff. “Tony. He said he worked here as an engineer. He gave me his card.” Steve reached into his back pocket and felt the tip of a thick piece of paper. He almost yanked it apart as he thrust the crumpled up business card, still warm with his body heat, into her manicured hands. She looked at in in silence.

 “Well, not really his card. He only started working here a few weeks ago, so he couldn’t give me one with his name on it.” Steve rambled. How could he say he really needed to get in to see Tony without sounding like a stalker?

 ‘Ms. Potts’ gave the card a disinterested once over as if she was examining the finish on her nails. “What was your name again?”

 “Steve,” he said, hope swelling in his chest. “Steve Rogers.”

 She looked at the card once more. “Daisy, please make a visitor’s pass for Mr. Steven Rogers.”

 Steve’s face lit up.

 “I’ll take you to see him,” she said with a haughty air.  “However, he’s a very busy man, so I can’t guarantee that he’ll talk to you-”

 “That’s fine. That’s more than fine.” Steve didn’t bother to suppress the smile on his face.

 Following the sensual sway of shoulders and hips, Steve followed her into a richly decorated elevator. As the door closed and they ascended up the building, it dawned on him that Ms. Potts may not be taking him to see the correct Tony. “How many Tony’s work here?” he asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

 Ms. Pots smirked. “For a company this big, surprisingly only five.”

 “Oh.”

 They stood in silence as the gold numbers above the door blinked on and off with a soft chime. “So, how do you know Tony?” asked Ms. Pots.

 Steve resisted the urge to frown. Small talk? Was that necessary? But she was being an absolute doll in taking him to see Tony, so he did his best to humor the lady without insulting her intelligence. “We meet in the breadline a few weeks back.”

 “The breadline? Really?” The surprise in her voice was genuine. But so were the frustrated mutters along the lines of, “I told him I could scout out the other territories myself.”

 “Miss?”

“Nothing,” she said, dismissing the topic as quickly as it had come up. They stood in amicable silence as they passed a few more floors before she asked, “So what business do you have with Mister Stark?”

“Pardon?” Steve thought they were going to see Tony.

“Mister Tony Stark? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him.”

“Hard to miss the guy. But what does he have to do with Tony?”

“You don’t know.”

“No, should I?” He was beginning to get the feeling that he really should know what the hell was going on.

Ms. Potts rubbed her forehead with a free hand. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she said in a tired tone. “No, scratch that. I actually can.”

“Miss, is everything okay?”

She sighed. “Just try not to kill him when the penny drops. I rather like my job.” The elevator came to a halt at one of the top floors. As the doors quietly opened, she leaned over and whispered, “Also, under the façade, he really is a good guy. An over the top mad genius, but a good guy. I know it’s not my place, but if you’re interested, give him a chance. You really make him happy.”

Steve blinked in confusion. Did she know? He hadn’t been that careless about his relationship with Tony, had he?

As they walked out of the elevator, the familiar, intimidating clicks of her shoes echoed down the halls

A blond woman sat behind a solitary desk acting as a small barrier to a wooden office door neatly labeled ‘T. Stark’. Steve could barely keep up with her pace, but he could tell Ms. Potts was quite angry. “Ms. Summers, out of my chair!”

The mouse of a gal stood up instinctively, hiding behind a small clipboard of paperwork. “But Mr. Stane told me to keep an eye out for you.”

 Ms. Potts stared her down with the help of her black heels. “And I will tell you the same thing that I have told you before; I can do this job just fine without Obadiah Stane breathing down my neck every five minutes.”

 “But Ms. Potts,” she squeaked.  “The paperwork-”

 Pepper silently rolled her eyes in irritation. “Should be taken to the fifth floor and up the chain of command. I’ll check it before sending it off, but please remember next time. I can’t keep checking your work every time you make a mistake. I already have enough on my plate dealing with Mister Stark.”

 “Yes Ms. Potts,” she said, cowering away from the desk. “I understand Ms. Potts. Thank you very much Ms. Potts.”

 Ms. Potts sighed as the girl rushed down the elevator. “She’s getting married in a month. Tony told me to fire her, but she needs to money to help pay for the wedding. She’s an idiot, but mostly harmless in the big picture,” she explained as if she was trying to convince herself that it was the right thing to do.

 “Tony has that type of power?” asked Steve in generic disbelief. Who knew business dolls could be so strong. “We are talking about the same Tony, right?”

 “This way Mr. Rogers,” she said, ignoring him and coxing him over to the large door with a wave of her hand.

 Pushing the door open with an easy flick of her wrist, Steve followed behind like a duck. Loud music from a gramophone burst out into the waiting area like a brick wall of sound. Instincts kicked in, and Steve covered his ears and closed his eyes as if that would make the atrocious din go away faster. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ms. Potts efficiently rushing over to remove the needle from the record.

 Shaking off the initial shock, what he saw in the room was even more breathtaking than the lobby. Maybe more so because it felt so much like Tony. Downstairs was all clean lines and the latest architectural designs. The warm, enteric gold tinted lighting feels so cold and heartless compared to the bright light that filtered into the large room. The steel models glinting like stars in the sunlight, the mess of wires and empty coffee cups, the disarray of papers on a far wall with a newsprint stabbed right in the center with a purple arrow and a Iron Man helmet surrounded by hearts, Steve could only stare in awe. This was like the sketch in the ground brought to life. With all the moving dials and fluxing displays on large rectangular devices, Steve half expected to see something fly over his head like something out of a science fiction novel. How did Tony have access to such amazing things?

 That’s when it hit him. ‘T. Stark’. Tony Stark. Good God, Mary, Joseph, and all the holy saints! Tony wasn’t just some run of the mill engineer. Tony was Tony ‘freakin’ Stark: son of the great Howard Stark and new head of Stark Industries, inventor extraordinaire, and one of the few companies trying to do some good in the wake of the crash.

 In the absence of loud music, he could hear Tony on the phone. The rich familiar sound of his voice was caked in power and authority. Cautiously, he took a few steps closer, not wanting to step on something and accidently destroy the delicately balanced discord. Pepper stood a few feet from Tony, back ramrod straight and at attention, waiting for him to finish his business.

 “No, I don’t want the arm going out in the next shipment. Who the hell even authorized that? ” Tony yelled into the phone. He listens to the person on the other end of the line, stress pulling the back of his rumpled dress shirt into a tight line. Tony lets out a sigh, undoubtedly fed up with the train of events. “I understand. I’ll get right on it.”

 Tony slammed down the receiver with a loud groan. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in visual frustration. “Is the world out to get me, or do I have a sign on my back right now begging for my ass to be kicked?”

 Ms. Potts ignored his remark. “Dinner with Victor will is scheduled for 7:30 tonight, so please be down in the car by 6:00. You know how busy the streets get in the evening. And don’t forget that Obie will be stopping by in a few hours to check on you. If there’s anything you don’t want him to see, take it down or take him out to eat at someplace nice.”Tony snorted as if the prospect of going out to eat was on a list of impossibilities.  “On the Southern Front, meeting concluded right on schedule. Our new provider has agreed to the terms of our arrangement. I’ll draw up a contract and we should be expecting product within the next few weeks.”

 Tony grunted in satisfaction as he slouched down into a chair. A gray jacket that matched his slacks hung off the back of the chair. “Good. Any progress on the hole in the wall?”

 “I’ll let you know after you have your walk-in-consultation.”

 Tony’s face twisted in bewilderment. “My what? Since when did I have walk-ins?”

 Ms. Potts pointed to Steve. Tony turned his attention, and Steve saw the instant Tony finally understood what was happening. He looked like a deer in headlights. Or maybe like a kid that got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Either way, the jig was up. No more posing as a mild mannered engineer.

 “Yeah, my walk-in,” Tony murmured, slipping out of his seat to face Steve. Silver claps on the red suspenders clinked against the metal of the chair.

 Ms. Potts smiled. “If there’s nothing else Mr. Stark, I’ll leave you to two your business.”

 “Thank you Ms. Potts. That will be all,” he replied, attention on other more important things.

 She gave Steve a wink and left in a flurry of red hair.

 They stood at looked at each other for a moment. Neither of them knowing who should start and with what. Steve gulped. He really wished Ms. Potts had stayed to moderate. Or that there was a colored entrance so Sam could break the silence. Bucky was a pal, but Sam knew how to handle delicate situations like this.

 Tony was the first to break the silence. “Hi,” he said in a quiet voice.

 “Hi.” Steve’s reply was just as quiet.

 They stood in awkward silence for a moment, both not quite knowing what to do or what to say next. Steve tried to remember why he was there. It was definitely was not so he could swim in those dark chocolate eyes after two long weeks of distant phone conversations.

 “So,” said Tony, breaking the silence with the shrug of his shoulder. “This is me.”

 “Yeah, I see,” Steve casually replied, taking in rumpled sexy spectacle presented to him.

 “So, what do you think? Bet it’s not what you expected,” asked Tony, not minding his appearance of red suspenders hanging down from the top of his pants and sleeves rolled up just enough to give Steve a show that made the crotch of his pants feel a little snug.

 Words. Steve could remember them; make them into a nice coherent sentence. “Still in shock that this is all you, but it’s nice,” said Steve, trying his hardest not to ogle Tony as his eyes darted around to everything but. He could salvage this conversation if it was the last thing he did. “The workshop, It’s very you. Can’t say I’m a fan of your wallpaper though.”

 Tony snorted. “Pepper says it’s a mess. Still better than my lab back in Boston, but getting there. I’m just two or three explosions away from really making it mine.”

 Steve raised a concerned eyebrow. “Are explosions are regular thing for you?” he asked, feeling something between concern and an unfounded endearment.

 Tony chuckled. It sounded tired and soulless. When was the last time Tony had smiled or laughed? “When are they not? Pepper says ‘danger’ is my middle name, but I’m partial to ‘regular reckless endangerment to my own health’ personally.”

 Steve snorted in amusement.

 “So,” said Tony, finally slipping on his suspenders like a civilized person. “What are you doing in my part of town? I’m guessing you didn’t come to bask in my glory since I never told you.”

 “To be fair, I connected the dots less than ten minutes ago.”

 “And? Thoughts?” Tony acted as if he could care less, but the nervous fidget of his hands gave him away.

 Steve mouthed unexplainable emotions as he tried to make sense of it all. “Overwhelmed is one,” he said honestly. Seeing Tony all proper and business like, and the swanky place he worked, Steve didn’t understand how Tony could resist bragging about it to every soul he met. All flash, bang, boom; most people would kill for a position like Tony’s. “Why didn’t you feel you could tell me?”

 Tony shrugged, distracting himself with an assortment of wires and switches. In a voice quiet enough that Steve almost missed it, Tony mumbled, “Didn’t want you making a big deal out of it or taking advantage of me.”

 Steve was shocked. “Do people normally do that?”

 Tony shrugged nonchalantly. “It happens. A lot more often than you would think, but it happens. I try not to make a big deal out of it.”

 “Tony, it should be a big deal. Friends shouldn’t be taking advantage of others for their own benefit,” he said, moving over so he was close to Tony’s side.

 Tony hesitated before looking up at Steve. Something was off. It felt like Tony had put up a mask between them and it wrecked Steve to see Tony like that. “Yeah, well, when you’ve been in the white collar business as long as I have, you realize how easy it is to forget the difference between networking and abusing privileges. It’s all in the semantics.”

 Steve felt his stomach drop. How could people be so cruel? Taking advantage of a person’s position to get what they want. How could people do that? Tony was too swell a guy to be subject to that.

 And yet, there was a small voice in the back of Steve’s head chastising him for being a hypocrite. A tiny voice reminding him of the mission and what would happen if he didn’t get Tony’s help. For the sake of the gang. It only made the guilt sink further into his stomach.

 He took a deep breath, trying to reason with himself that this was the right thing to do and everything would be okay. “And that make my job even more difficult.”

 Tony gave Steve an inquisitive look. “What job?”

 Steve hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out the best way to phrase it. “We need guns.”

 Tony’s face fell, the guilt flooding Steve’s conscious in a surge of blackwater. “Steve-” Tony’s voice was tired and raw as if this was the last thing he wanted to hear.

 “That’s what I came to talk to you about,” Steve interrupted, as if explaining would make everything better. “We got jumped real bad today. Guys had Tommy guns and grenades that did damage like I’ve never seen. Almost collapsed a whole building on top of us. We need arms from the Iron Family to protect ourselves.”

Tony’s face scrunched up in scrutiny. Steve didn’t need to look to see theories and possibilities whizzing through Tony’s mind like ricocheting bullets. “I can ask the Iron Family to protect you-”

 “No,” Steve insisted. “We can take care of ourselves.” Didn’t matter what Tony proposed, Steve had considered every possibility and this was the best one of the bad lot. Granted, this idea was seeming less optimal with each passing second, but Steve didn’t see much of a choice.

 “I’m not saying you can’t-”

 “Well I’m saying we can!” Steve insisted. The less the Brooklyn Boys got others involved, the better. It was their fight. Not Tony’s, not the Iron Family; their fight against Hydra. Bringing in civilians or other outside help would be dishonorable and paint a target on innocent heads. Steve would never be able to live with himself if his actions put Tony in harm’s way.

 Tony’s face solidified into stern determination. “Steve, tell me what’s going on!” His voice was firm as if talking to a subordinate rather than a friend.

 “It’s none of your damn business!” Steve shouted back. Why didn’t Tony see? Tony needed to shut up and agree before anything else went wrong. And so many things were already going wrong.

 Tony puffed his chest, face becoming blotchy and red with anger. “Well, I think it is my damn business when you come asking for something like that. It’s my family you’re asking!”

 Steve blinked and stepped in shock. The weight of the words drenching his defensiveness with ice water. “Your family?”

 The aggressive energy drained from Tony’s shoulders until all that was left was a mortified husk of a man. His lips formed the beginning of quick lies and excuses, but nothing came out. Giving up with a sigh, Tony ran a hand through his dirty hair and begged, “Can we just pretend you never heard me say that?”

 “No Tony, I don’t think I can,” said Steve, steel shields encasing his heart. Steve couldn’t believe his ears. Tony, allied with the Iron Family. Suddenly, the comments about ‘toast’ and how he mysteriously persuaded a deal with the Iron Family, it all made sense.                                                                                                             

“I thought you just had a loose association with them, but that’s a lie,” the shock cause his thoughts spilled out of his mouth freely. Each piece of reality slotting into place like a jigsaw puzzle as it slowly destroy his heart and trust. “You know them. You know all their secrets. You helped a known terrorist destroy who knows how many lives! And you got me involved too,” he said, jabbing at the rag pinned to the wall. Steve couldn’t believe Tony could use him as inspiration for such a horrible thing. There was no way in hell that this was the same Tony that had joked with him over bootleg in a drafty apartment. This wasn’t the same Tony that jumped into harm’s way to protect Steve why Hydra had targeted Steve the night of the run. This wasn’t the same Tony that he had spent hours on the phone with, a crackling line bringing a smile to his face every time he inserted another coin into the steel slot.

 This couldn’t be Tony, and yet the heartbreaking look on Tony’s face told him that it was. The man that Steve had grown to love was a farce. A façade for something Steve always wished he could have, but when presented with the glimmer of hope, crushed the too good to be true dream with a dirty, sullied reality.

 “I should go.” Steve forced his legs to take him to the door and walk out.

 “Steve,” Tony ran over and tried to get in his way.

 Steve let out a weak laugh. Tony seemed so small now. It would take no effort to push Tony out of the way and out of his life forever. With a low voice, he looked down his nose at the poor man. “Tony, if I were you, I would stay the hell out of my way.”

 With heavy steps, Steve force his way past. Tony didn’t try to hold him back again, but he did beg. “Come on Steve. Let me in. I really need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

 “We aren’t dealing with anything,” Steve shouted over his shoulder. He was determined to walk out of the door without showing a single shred of weakness. “I just came to ask a favor. That’s all. If you can’t help, I’ll find someone else.”

 “Who?” Tony demanded. He sounded hysterical. “Who else would give you guns? Because I sure as hell know you don’t have the money to buy them.”

 “I don’t know, but I’m sure I’ll think of something.” Steve’s stubbornness coming out in full force. He would not bow down to Tony’s goading, no matter how much it rang true.  They didn’t have the money to buy arms. He knew that and Tony knew that. The Brooklyn Boys would have to face extinction at the hands of Hydra unless they did something drastic. But Steve would not allow Tony the satisfaction of being right for the last time. Tony betrayed him, took advantage of him. Steve had every right to be mad. He had every right to hate Tony. And he would do everything in his power to make sure Tony knew that as soon as the glimmer of happiness in his heart stopped crying from their loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's hope I got everything in for a coherent story. Thanks everyone for the kudos and the comments! Since I'm starting from scratch, I think I might switch to once a month update unless I can crank these chapters out faster. But, I'm coming up on the climax, so we'll see.
> 
> Happy Halloween Month!


	11. If You Go Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you go away, on the summer day, then you might as well take the sun away.
> 
> -Frank Sinatra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween everyone! Snow/ flurries have been spotted in my neck of the prefecture and it's not even November. Fan fucking tastict. Updating on my tablet, so excus any spelling errors.
> 
> Short chapter this time. Next update, is going to be big.
> 
> Also, 50k words! Thanks to everyone who has commented and supported me over these past few months. You have no idea how much it helps to see you enjoying what I'm doing.

When Steve started describing the devastating bombing, Tony’s vision narrowed and his breath slowed. The meaning behind the dirt and dust sprinkled across Steve’s frame had suddenly become important, and not a mere contouring aesthetic. All he could think was, ‘My weapons did that. My weapons hurt Steve’ as a pit of dark guilt began to swirl in his stomach. And although there was no sure way of know for sure where the weapon had come from, Tony had a gut feeling that it was definitely his company’s name sprayed on in white on the side of the explosion. Where else could folks get their hands on an explosive that could cause large scale damage? Molotov’s couldn’t bring a building down on someone, and Justin Hammer was incompetent enough that he couldn’t be credited for the destructive handiwork.

This was his fault. This was all his fault. All the hard work and revisions that had gone into revamping the security system at Stark Industries, and look what happened. Another leak under his nose. If only he knew who the mole was. If only he could plug up the hole faster. If only he could do something, anything to prevent an incident like that from ever happening again.

Against his better judgment, he pushed. This all lead back to Tony, and he would be damned if he let Steve take the fall for him on this one. Tony wanted to get as much information as he could with the hopes of spiriting Steve away to a safe house later.

But Steve, being the stubborn bastard that he was, pushed back. He didn’t want to be protected and he wasn’t up for giving Tony the information that he was practically begging for. Tony’s plan backfired bad, and he ended up accidently spilling that he was involved in the Iron Family. Maybe there would have been some room for forgiveness if Steve hadn’t made the connection between the blasted newspaper Clint had plastered on his ‘thinking wall’ and the “toast” incident, but Steve was too smart for that. Tony really did like how smart Steve was, but leave it to him to find someone smart enough to put all the pieces together and outsmart him.

As Steve stormed out of the room and down to the street, Tony’s head spun with what to do next.

Go after him? Stay? Steve should be given his space. They both need a little bit of space after what happened. But at what cost? Losing Steve? Tony was already at his wit’s end not seeing that beautiful smile for the past two weeks. If he was going to lose Steve, he might as well go down kicking and screaming.

“Steve!” he called after the shadowy figure as a set of elevator doors close around his silhouette. Tony walked faster. He needed to know. If he couldn’t salvage what they had, the least he could do was get a name or a face of the people that hurt Steve and do everything in his power to make sure it never happened again.

Motherfucking bastards pointing long black muzzles at a saint. Lobbing grenades like rotten fruit at a stray dog. If it was the last thing he did, Tony would make them pay. He’d strangle them with his own calloused hands; paint the streets red with their blood. And if Pepper discovered a financial outlet, Stark Industries would ruin them and their good name for the rest of time. Whoever hurt Steve would wish for the sweet release of death.

To his displeasure, a brown haired bimbo with a pile of paperwork stood between him and the elevator. Her shoulder length hair looked familiar only in passing. What was her name again? Daisy? Ms. Johnson? Skye? Someone had called her that in a break room, right?

“Mr. Stark, if I could just have a moment of your time-”

“I’m busy,” he grumbled. “Talk to Pepper and make an appointment.”

She followed alongside him, stepping in line with him as he headed toward the elevator. “But Mr. Stark, it’s an emergency.”

“So are the runs. Is it the runs? Because if it’s not, it can wait,” his tone was, to say the least, testy. Damn, the second elevator was a half a dozen floors below. There was no way he would be able to catch up with Steve at this point. He rapidly stabbed at the elevator button, mentally begging for the elevator to move faster and give him a chance at redemption.

“Look,” she said, beginning to get impatient. Apparently Miss Brown Eyes didn’t get the message that when the boss tells you to piss off, you piss off. “I know you’re busy, but I promise this will only take a minute. I just need you to sign these papers and then I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Just put it on my desk,” he said, trying his best to ignore her as he glared at the damn needle moving closer to his floor. “I don’t like being handed things.”

“But don’t you want to know what I’m asking for?” she asked, skepticism in her voice.

Tony shrugged. “No really.” He had more important things to worry about. Blond, angry things.

He could almost hear her rolling her eyes in contempt. “What desk?” she conceded.

“The desk in my workshop.”

Raising an eyebrow, she shifted her weight to one side. “You mean the desk in your locked workshop.”

“It’s not really locked. It’s just a rumor we spread around so people don’t go looking where they’re not supposed to.” The look on her face told Tony that she didn’t believe a word he said.

He rubbed an exasperated hand down his face. “Look, just give it to Pep or put it on the secretary desk right there. It’ll get taken care of,” he said, trying not to snap. Tony needed to keep his feelings under control, and this doll wasn’t helping.

“And how many times do you think I’ve heard that,” she asked, crossing her arms in clear annoyance. “I’ve only been here a few weeks, and even I know the people who organize and categorize all these forms are crap at their job.”

Tony really didn’t want to be on the other end of work gossip right now.

“Do you how many times I’ve sent out requests only to have them ‘lost’ in the disorganized mess you call the hierarchy?” she asked, clearly not noticing Tony’s disinterest in the topic. “I swear, we kill more trees because of mis-filings than anything else. Do you realize how much work we could get done if we just eliminated the paperwork part altogether?”

“Miss-”

“And don’t even get me started on the delivery system,” she continued on, clearly in her own little world. “I’m a front desk secretary and yet somehow I get a form asking for fifty tons of steel and ten crates containing machine gun bullets and fourteen extra-long clips. You would think after I ask around somebody would have some idea of who sent it or where it should go, but nope. Everyone I talk to is completely useless. Most people would think the factory guys would know all the little ins and outs, but strike two there. And now I’m left with an unfulfilled request form hanging from the little space I’m supposed to call a desk, staring back at me like a disappointed kitten.”

“If I sign it will you shut up and go away?” Tony abruptly interrupted her with a louder than needed suggestion.

A black pen popped into his right hand. “Already got a pen uncapped for you.”

He scribbled his name as fast as he could. It was messier than his usual signatures, less flare and more faded lines, but considering the mood he was in and the fact that was no solid surface under the easily tearable pink slip, it would have to do. He shoved the pen and the paper back into her hands. “Okay. I signed your stupid form. Now will you please piss off?” he asked, angry venom leaking into his voice.

“Okay, fine. God. Don’t need to be an ass about it,” she scoffed just as the elevator gods finally decided now was a good time for the doors to open. As he stepped in the box and rapidly punched for the lobby, he heard her mutter, “I can see why no one wants to work for you for longer than a few months. Don’t know how your girlfriend can even stand you.”

Tony was seconds from giving her a witty retort when the doors closed around him, leaving him alone with only his thoughts as company. And when you’re as sharp as Tony Stark, leaving a man with his thoughts is not a good idea. He tried not to dwell on her comment too much, but as doubts surfaced, they became harder and harder to ignore amid the silence.

What if she was right? Miss Brown Eyes was a nobody, but what if she was right questioning his worth? What if Steve really couldn’t stand being with Tony? The kiss all those nights ago told a different story, but everything had changed in those few minutes of confrontation. What if Steve’s feelings for Tony had changed too?

What if Steve really didn’t want Tony? What if Tony was projecting his desires on Steve? Steve was right, this was his fight. For all he knew, the attack could’ve come from a third party that had never laid eyes on Stark made weapons. Maybe, he should stay out of it. Maybe he should let Steve go. After all, he failed to protect him.

Tony’s shoulders slumped as the ramifications assaulted his conscience. When Steve figured out that Tony was directly related to the Iron Family, he had become an unwilling target for information. Tony could see it now. Coulson and his gaggle of information brokers would jump on Steve’s ass faster than a high rolling lady. They’d pester him with questions; pick his brain ruthlessly like pigeons in Central Park. Steve had become a weak point in the armor of the family, and in the business of the mafia, there were only one thing to do. Tony shuddered just thinking about it. Clint with a barbed arrow, or Rhodey with a rifle; crosshairs centered on a man who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tony shook the thoughts out of his head as the elevator doors opened to reveal the lavish lobby. No, he had to believe what he was doing was right. Going after Steve now may make things worse, but it was the right thing to do. No matter what, he had to make sure Steve would be safe. If push came to shove, Tony would kidnap Steve himself. He’d keep Steve safe in one of his mansions, while exacting revenge in the name of Steve Rogers. And if Steve didn’t like it, he’d ask for forgiveness later.

Who was he kidding? He was Tony fucking Stark. He was Iron Man, leader and boss of the infamous Iron Family. He could do whatever the fuck he wanted and ask Pepper to send one of her famous “I’m sorry my boss is an idiot,” fruit baskets later.

He stepped out, the elevator soon filling with dark suits headed back to work. “Steve,” he timidly called out into the mess of bodies. Tony tried to look for the familiar shape of Steve’s figure, the familiar sheen of light reflecting off short blond hair, the familiar timbre of his voice that ingrained itself into Tony’s soul long ago.

Seeing nothing besides a sea of white, brown, and black, Tony’s thoughts drifted to giving up. Maybe it was already too late. Maybe it was his fate to be alone for the rest of his life. To fail every single good person he encountered until there was nothing left of him except that of an old, grumpy, has been. Maybe Steve was meant to be far away from him. Far enough away that a shiny bullet would never find a home between the two hemispheres of Steve’s brain.

Tony shook off the gruesome thought and forced himself forward through the sea of people. He had to find Steve. He had to protect Steve, or at least explain that he wasn’t the bad guy. The guys who destroyed his heart were the bad guys. The guys who hurt Steve were the bad guys. Tony was the good guy.

“Steve!” he voice a little louder and braver than before.

“Tony!” A familiar hand, that definitely didn’t belong to Steve, clasped his shoulders. “It’s been an age my boy. How’ve you been?”

“Not now Obie,” Tony said, trying to brush off his mentor’s touch. “I’m busy. Need to find someone.”

“Who?” asked Obie. “Just say the word and I’ll get security to help.”

“I don’t need that kind of help Obie. I just,” he saw something gold pass by just beyond his line of sight. “It’s personal. I need to take care of this myself.”

“Tony?”

Tony pushed through the crowd, trying to part the Red Sea. He paid no mind to the grunts of annoyance and complaints of inconvenience coming from minions in suits. He had to get to Steve. He had to explain everything and he didn’t have much time. A finger’s length away from the blond man, Tony reached out and grabbed at the bare bicep.

Immediately, Tony knew he had the wrong man. He may only have memories of light finger touches, but the muscles Tony felt under his fingers, the coarseness of the hair on the man’s arm, there was no way that this man was Tony’s Steve. He didn’t even wait for the man to turn around before pushing him out the door and on his way. Tony had already lost enough time waiting for the elevator. Now was no time to dwell on which wrong arm he had touched in his haste.

Desperately, he scanned the room again. Maybe he had missed someone. Maybe Steve had taken a quick trip to the john and would come out at any second.

“Steve!” he called into the crowd. Why did everyone have to be taller than him? Short was great for working under cars, but crap when looking for someone in a crowd.

“Tony!” Stane pushed his way through the downward stream of people. “What’s wrong with you, Tony?” Stane’s face was creased with concern. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

“Nothing,” said Tony as he hastily tried to push himself up a little higher. “I just need to find Steve.”

“Why is this ‘Steve’ so important?” asked Stane.

The hairs on the back of Tony’s neck bristled. “None of your business Obie.” Tony’s words were brusque.

Stane’s face darkened. His voice came out low and threatening. “Tony, I didn’t come here to waste time on pointless pursuits.”

“Too fucking bad Obie,” snapped Tony. Hours of working tirelessly in the lab, and the drain from interacting with people under a pleased façade had taken its toll. “You wasted my time by sending that arm into production when I specifically told you not to do that. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent trying to clean up your mess?”

“My mess?” Stane’s face furrowed in confusion. “Tony, that design was brilliant! I don’t understand why you stopped production. You had to know the fallout that the choice would cause.”

Dammit all. It was like talking to a brick wall and expecting it to respond with something intelligent and groundbreaking. “How many times do I need to repeat myself, the arm isn’t fucking ready! I did not design that arm to be used as a weapon. And that’s what R&D’s unapproved modifications made it into, a weapon. It’s supposed to be a fucking prosthetic! Its purpose is to help people, not strangle the life out of them.”

“But we’re a weapon’s company Tony,” Stane vehemently insisted.

Tony stiffened, anger building up in his stomach like boiling magma. This was his company, not Obie’s company. Tony could do whatever the hell he wanted whenever the hell he wanted. He could leave right this second, find Steve, and never come back. He could run the company right into the ground and crash the stock market again leaving Stane to pick up the shattered remains. He could take a train to the Malibu or a plane to the actual Malibu in California and never turn back. Who was Obadiah Stane to tell him otherwise? Compared to Tony, Stane was a nobody. A nobody what was trying very hard to be a somebody and act important. And right now, all Tony really wanted was to hurt Stane and remind him how much of a nobody he really was. Didn’t matter what it was as long as it hurt.

With an angry cocky air, Tony turned to face Stane and looked him straight in the eyes. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to make weapons like dear old dad?” asked Tony, his voice dripping with contempt.

Stane’s eyes stretched wide in shock. He took a few steps back to steady himself before replying in a disbelieving whisper, “What?”

The gravity of Tony’s words sunk in. Dammit. Tony didn’t want the news to come out this way. Yes, he did eventually want to reduce production and sales to make sure weapons got into the right hands, but this wasn’t how or when he wanted to break it to Obie. Tony rubbed his temples. The exhausting work over the past two weeks was making him sloppy. If he didn’t watch his mouth he might let everything slip.

But for now, he tried to make the best of a bad situation. “Yeah, startling as it may be, I’m not dad. And right now, I have no desire to make weapons. And until I can be sure that my weapons won’t fall into the wrong hands, I’m shutting down weapons production until further notice. ” If he was going to commit, might as well go all the way.

Tony could almost hear Stane's teeth grinding together in anger. “What the hell is wrong with you Tony? You don’t have the right.”

Tony turned up the attitude to ten. “I have every right. It’s my name on the building, my name on the weapons, and me who gets blamed when shit happens. Because, guess what, shit happened. I just got a report, from a very reliable source, that one of our grenades brought down a building on someone. And I’m not talking about a metaphorical building here Obie. I’m talking literal, physical bricks, cement, metal pipes, and dead human bodies falling down on someone in the middle of civilian filled Brooklyn. Brooklyn, Obie! I may not be a fan of the place, but I sure as hell don’t want weapons with my name on it going off in civilian filled areas. It’s more than just bad for business. It’s negligent.”

“Who told you?” Stane’s face twisted into something hideous. Classic intimidation tactic. Luckily, Tony didn’t fall for that shit easily.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Tony flippantly. “What matters is that it happened and I refuse to let it happen again. If it can happened once-”

“You can’t do that Tony,” challenged Stane. “You can’t shut down an entire company just because you feel like it.”

“Watch me,” Tony said defiantly as he walked toward the elevator. As much as he wanted to chase after Steve, that would have to wait. If he wanted something as massive as shutting down his company, he needed to do it himself and it needed to be done yesterday. Yes, it would be bad for business and the stocks, but if he could pull it off-

As he waited precious seconds for the elevator to open, Stane tried desperately with honey coated lines to make Tony reconsider. “Tony, let’s talk it out. You don’t want to make any rash decisions.”

“Why not Obie?” Tony almost yelled in untampered rage. “Should I wait for more innocent people to die because of me? Or should I just start a gun racketeering business to get the job done faster. Maybe I’ll start an all-out war with the criminal underground just to get my point across.”

“Tony-”

“What?” Tony laughed in angry hysterics. “It’s not like it’s going to make a difference! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t be sending everyone home right this second!”

“Because once you sent those people home, they may never come back!” Stane bellowed at the top of his lungs.

Tony froze in his tracks, the words slowly registering into his consciousness as they reverberated down the halls. Heads turned in their directions, and sharp whispers began to pass between lips.

Stane let out a heavy focused breath, trying to draw their thoughts away from the opinions of others. When his eye’s met Tony’s, the red lines of stress and frustration were nowhere to be seen. “These people don’t live like us Tony,” Stane said in a quieter, reasonable voice. “They don’t buy swanky clothes, or attend high profile parties where each plate is over twenty bucks. They live paycheck to paycheck, spending money on what they need, saving a dismissible sum of leftover coins under their mattress. The fact that they have work in this economy is a miracle. If you send everyone home right now, they might not be around when we open our doors again. And I’m not just talking about other work Tony.”

The implication slowly sunk into his bones like the cold of winter. Starvation, human trafficking, suicide brought on by hopelessness. The possibilities of what could happen hit a little too close to home.

“Can you live with that guilt, Tony?” asked Stane in a comforting, fatherly voice that implied he was only looking out for Tony’s best interest. “That, because of your selfishness, you put so many on death row because they can no longer work and no longer provide for their families?”

His voice dropped to a volume that only Tony could hear. Stane’s shoulder’s sagged, and his eyes betrayed true grievance. “Your father’s suicide personally weighs heavily on my heart. Sometimes, I wonder if I could have done anything to prevent him from jumping out that window. But with the fallout from the crash, nobody had much time to think of the consequences. Everyone did what they thought was right at the time.”

He placed a comforting hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Don’t make the same mistake I did Tony. You’re smart, I’m sure you can find another way.”

Tony let out a silent breath, allowing the weight of the hand and the weight of his decision sink in. Everything from before, and now this on top. The world really was out to crush him. Maybe Steve did him a favor. If he was angry at Tony, maybe he would be too busy to be sad when Tony disappointed the world, collapsed from exhaustion, and never moved again. It would certainly save Steve the tears. Might even save Steve too.

“At this point, there is no other way,” he said, not bothering to hide sound of defeat in his voice.

“Then, at the very least, sleep on it,” urged Stane. “I know you haven’t been getting much sleep lately. Let me take your meetings for the rest of the day, and if you still think it’s the right thing to do, we’ll get started on the paperwork tomorrow. Sound good?”

With a quiet ring, the doors to the elevator silently opened. Tony glared at Stane, the creases of his face cast weird shadows in the flood of golden light from the elevator. “I’m not changing my mind Obie,” he said with tired certainty.

Stane urged him into the elevator. “Sleep on it, for me?”

Tony groaned in exhausted apathy. “You have a meeting with Victor this evening. We’ll talk when you get back.”

Stane smiled. “You know Victor, he likes to gab as long as he can hold breath. I’ll stop by the lab next time I’m free and then we can talk.”

As the elevator doors slid shut, ending their conversation, Tony immediately regretted letting Obie talking him into delaying his executive decision. Tony closed his eyes and allowed his legs to give out from underneath him. There was something strangely relieving about sliding down the elevator wall and letting everything he couldn’t say flood out. He hung his head between his legs, breathing to the rhythm of the elevator pings.

He was a sham. A complete and utter shame of a CEO. He should have stood firm in moving forward with his original plan, but now there was no way this would ever get done.

If Victor Von Doom talked well into the night as was egotistically standard of him, the next time he and Obie could ‘discuss’ shutting down productions would be tomorrow. But tomorrow and for the next week, Obie had meetings out of the country with the Germans, Italians, and the Japanese for some reason. And unless some sort of surprise happened, the company would keep trucking away like normal and those bastards would keep getting their illegal arms like normal. Things needed to change and they needed to change fast.

The smart thing would be to shut down the company without consulting anyone. There would be fallout, sure, the board would be upset, stocks would drop (twenty percent minimum), but Tony could trust Pepper with all that. It would cost him a good sum for nice heels and a fancy evening dress to make it up to her, but in the end it would be worth it. Wouldn’t it?

Reality swept in as the elevator doors opened to his floor. As much as Tony had the power and the right to pull off something this big and drastic; the truth was Obie was right. Thousands of people would be out of work by shutting down the company at this point in time. And seeing the way Steve and the other half lived, it just hit home how much Tony could not do that. These people needed work, needed money to survive. If he shut down now, who know how many people would commit suicide or die of starvation because of his actions.

He couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t.

‘Maybe there’s another way,’ he thought, ambling over to the large plush couch in the corner of the workshop. He flopped down face first, allowing the makeshift bed to swallow him up in a warm embrace. The perfect mix of soft and firm reminded his fatigued brain of a certain angry someone.

Slowly realizing where that thought process lead, Tony scrunched his face. He must really be tired if he was thinking of Steve after all that had happened. He flipped over on his side and tried to look at the other options. However, as hard as he tried not to think about it, the haze of physical and emotional fatigue slowly began to infect his brain with sappy and sweet thoughts of impossible possibilities.

If worst came to worst, he should set up a soup kitchen like Capone did in Chicago. That was an option. Then his people wouldn’t go hungry. `Maybe Steve could help,’ he thought, the blissful idea tugging a sad smile to one side of his face.

In Tony’s dream, Steve would be more than happy to hop on board with that. He seemed like that kind of guy. Ideally, Steve would be in the back kitchen, cooking some healthy and hearty dish that his mamma passed down to him, while Tony managed the people in the front. Or, it could be the other way around. Steve, with his big smile and gorgeous blue eyes making small talk and winning people over with his good nature; while Tony was in the back making pots black because (let’s face it) Tony wasn’t too experienced in the kitchen. Of course, fires in the kitchen would mean Steve would have to come back and save him every once in a while. Big strong arms, throwing water to put of the fire, getting Tony soaked to the bone, slowly striping the his clothes off so Tony wouldn’t catch cold. Steve would do that for Tony.

That is if Steve ever forgave him. Once Tony got his revenge, he could become that type of mobster easily. Using his money and resources to help those less fortunate. Steve would like that. Tony swore, in his muddled state of sleep deprivation, that he would do all that for Steve in a heartbeat. That is, if Steve ever came back.

Sleep tugged at his eyelids and the corners of his sight became fuzzy and dim. ‘Maybe Obie was right,’ he thought, slowly realizing how much the couch pulled him into its soft embrace. ‘Maybe he should sleep on it.’ He remember the amazed look on Steve’s face when he first entered the workshop, picking out as many little details as he could. The sparkle in his eyes. The turn of his lips. The timber of his voice as he called out Tony’s name.

Tony cradled the memory close to his chest, trying his hardest not to cry. Would Steve ever look at him like that ever again? Maybe, if he was really good. Tony could be good. He really could, but if he couldn’t? Tony clung to the memory, changing it into a dream as he imagined what could have happened next. Steve moving preciously into Tony’s space. Tony brushing his knuckles against Steve’s jawline. Steve’s breath hitching as Tony leaned forward. Beautiful blues engulfed in black desire. Soft lips grazing against each other at a teasing distance.

Tony smiled at the dream as he fell further down. Sleep sounded good. Sleep sounded very good. Sleep entertained the dream and gave him motivation to never wake up.

* * *

 

“Tony?” her soft voice broke through the dark comfort of silence.

Slowly, Tony cracked open his eyes and saw red. Gorgeous, flaming red hair that belonged to his favorite assistant. “Hey Pep,” he mumbled, slurring the words together. “I ever tell you how pretty you are? Like, really pretty? Like, prettier than Lady Liberty herself.”

Pepper was not impressed. “You went to sleep.”

“Yeah.”

“On your own,” she said, implying something more.

“So? What’s the big deal?” His normal snappish attitude was heavily clouded in the dozy haze of waking up. Tony rolled his head so it faced the floor. He dragged a lazy finger against the grain of floor. Were there always so many small stones embedded into the cement? “Steve found out,” he murmured, not bothering to look up.

He could hear that distinct single eyebrow raise she did whenever he was being stupid or cryptic. “About what?”

“Everything,” he said, trying his best not to shed a tear. His voice cracked instead. “He was really mad.”

“Oh Tony,” her soft voice held all the heartache that Tony wished he could say in so few words.

“I thought everything would be better,” said Tony. He tried his best to hold back his emotions (“To be a man,” like his father said) but the cracks in his defenses grew bigger and bigger with each second.

“Steve makes everything better. That’s how I survived the past two weeks. I’d get stuck with a problem, and then by some miracle Steve would call and make it all better.” He smiled at the memory. Steve had been so helpful, and now he knew how. The bitter truth of Steve’s disappointment assaulted Tony’s heart. He sniffed and forced the tears back, trying to focus on something good.

He looked up at Pepper, eyes serious. “Did you know he’s an artist? He drew me a couple of times. It was really good. Shoulda’ seen him Pep. Looked at me like I was the moon and stars.” His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, lost in thought. “I don’t know much about art, but when I looked at the final product, there was so much warmth in what he made. Made me think that, for a second, he actually cared.”

He let out a deeply tired sigh and turned away from his friend. “Don’t know what he saw in me to draw me so good. Guess I’ll never know now.”

Pepper (bless her soul) let him wallow for a few minutes; brushing his hair between well-manicured fingers. When she did speak, her words were quiet and heartfelt. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

He blinked a few times, then looked at her in confusion. “For what?” he asked.

Pepper sighed. “I thought-” She stopped midsentence, trying to figure out the best way to say what was on her mind. “You’ve been so stressed the last couple of days. I thought bringing Steve up would help. Whenever you had a spare second, you’d go on and on about him. When I found him in the lobby, I thought-” Her voice died out, running out of ways to say what she felt.

Tony nodded. “It did,” he assured her, squeezing her hand. “For a little bit it did help.”

Turning on his side, Tony looked at the place where Steve had stood awestruck minutes, maybe hours before. “Shoulda seen his face, Pep,” he gushed quietly. “When he saw what I did, looked at me like I was the best damn thing in the world. And then when he figured it all out, god Pep. It crushed him, and it crushed me too.”

He curled in on himself. “I tried to go after him. I really did. But I couldn’t find him. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. Story of my life I guess.”

“That’s not true,” she assured him.

“Feels true right now.” His words were a muffle in his shoulder.

Pepper didn’t say anything. She just brushed his hair in silence and let him feel sad. She had known Tony long enough to know that words wouldn’t help him right now. Tony felt it was true and nothing she said would make him think otherwise.

It felt like hours had passed before either one of them broke the silence.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now,” said Pepper, continuing to brush Tony’s hair. “But we found the leak.” Tony looked up at her. “Well, not who the leak is. But the paperwork I’ve been examining points to Dock 6, Warehouse 16. That seems to be where the missing arms go, well, missing.”

“And why hasn’t anyone figured this out until now?” he asked, voice covered in dark criticism.

Pepper tried her best not to look like she wanted to throttle him. “There’s a lot of paperwork that goes through this company, and the reports seem to have gotten ‘lost’ in the mail.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why bring it up now?” he asked. Something big must have happened for Pepper’s BS detectors to go off.

“Because Ms. Summers just gave me a rec report for an unlabeled shipment to be delivered to 6-16 within the next week,” she said, handing said requisition request into his shaky hands.

Tony gave it as good of a once over as he could. Didn’t look like much to him. Just a bunch of pointless paperwork crudely filled in with an unconfident mess that some might call a signature. But, Pepper was the one who had done the research. If she called it a duck, you bet your pretty bonnet Tony would call it a duck too. “You think it’s our mole?” he asked, giving it back to her. “You think we can finally end this charade?”

She gave an indifferent shrug. “Don’t know. But it’s the same pattern I’ve been tracking for the past few weeks. Good a place as any to start.”

Tony let the idea roll around in his head for a bit. He quickly ran through possibilities, positives and negatives. It took him less than a minute to make up his mind.

Tony sat up, careful to keep his emotions in check. “Let’s do it." Firm resolve in his voice. "Sooner we catch these guys; the less likely it’ll be that I have to shut down the company.”

“What?” Grapevine wasn’t as strong as Tony thought if Pepper hadn’t heard about his little shit show down in the lobby.

“Never mind,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Just tell everyone to get ready for battle. If your right Pep, and let’s face it you usually are, I want to be ready to burn these suckers to the ground.” The ambush might not be worth much in the grand scheme of things, but if it offered just enough distraction for Tony to vent his anger about Steve, he might as well make it all worth the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all I've got for now. It might be a bit into December before an update. Both my beta and I are trying for NaNo this year and completing his story is on the agenda of things to write.
> 
> Good luck to all the writers out there. Hope the next update is worth the wait.
> 
> Hope everyone has a happy and safe Halloween. Stay spooky!


	12. Topsy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like all good jazz; it starts off as a mess, get's itself organized, and then explodes in a burst of noise that we like to call music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks go to [Kuailong](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuailong/pseuds/Kuailong) for the amazing beta. Their contributions make the story all the more better.

Steve stormed out of the building like a bat out of hell. He refused to look back to see if Tony was following him. He couldn’t look back. If Tony came after him, Steve wouldn’t be able to hold himself together. If Tony came after him, Steve didn’t know if he would give him a right hook or burst into tears.

He pushed his way through the crowd of people, past the doors to the street, and just kept walking straight ahead. He didn’t know where he was going and he really didn’t care. Steve’s face was a furnace of emotions. There was a dark urge goading his fist to punch something. Didn’t matter what it was, but he wanted to punch something, and he wanted to punch it hard.

He wanted to do was get away from Tony. He wanted to run away from that lying son of a bitch. Steve wanted to get away from Tony’s life, his company, hell, anything that had to do with him or the Iron Family; Steve wanted to wash his hands of it and throw all his shame down the Hudson with only a pair of cement shoes for comfort.

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve spotted Sam squatting on the steps. As soon as Sam noticed Steve storming out the building, he was on his feet. “Everything okay Steve?” he asked, worry etched across his face.

“No,” Steve fumed. The word came out as a low growl, rage threatening to tear the nearest person apart at the seams.

Sam took a cautious step back, holding his hands up in a weak attempt to protect himself from Steve’s wrath. “Steve?” he asked, his voice calm and gentle

Steve didn’t stop. “Steve! Wait up!” Steve didn’t wait. He forced himself to walk as far away from the building as possible. And when the eyesore of a building was finally out of sight, blocked by other faceless structures, Steve let loose. Damn the consequences! Steve curdled his hand into a solid fist and punched at a nameless brick wall. The resounding crunch felt so satisfying. An army of cracks ran out from the place of impact. With a twist of his fist, red pebbles fell to the ground in a rain of red dust.

“Yo!” Sam grabbed Steve’s shoulder and thrust him down into a pile of smelly black trash bags. Steve tried to get up, but Sam just pushed him back down. “What the hell is wrong with you? You need to calm down.”

“How can I calm down after that what just happened?” Steve yelled, thrashing around in an attempt to get out of the mess. “He betrayed me. He betrayed us! And now I bet ya’ he’s laughing all the way to the bank for making me look like a fool.”

“Maybe,” agreed Sam. “But that doesn’t mean you should go around punching things.”

“What the fuck do you know about anything Sam?” Steve growled, thrashing about in the putrid stink. “Let me go this instant! I’m going to punch some fucking sense into his stupid fucking face. He can’t do this to us, Sam. He can’t do this to me!”

“Not before you calm yourself!” Sam said with a snarl.

“I am calm!” Steve screamed. Couldn’t Sam see? This was the calmest Steve had ever been. The anger raging in his heart filled him with a focus and determination he hadn’t felt since he left the battlefield back in Europe.

Sam didn’t believe him. “Bullshit!” he said, reaffirming his grip on Steve’s pulsating body. He pushed down at just the right spot for pain to replace red anger. Sam moved his face down so all Steve could focus on was the black face opposite his. “Now I can either hold you down all day, or you can calm the fuck down and tell me what the hell is going on.”

Sam increased his push on the pressure point, making his determination clear. Pain, guilt, and shame doused Steve’s fiery rage. Slowly, Steve came down from the adrenaline filled high. His breathing was still shallow, but at least it was regular.

Sensing the calm, Sam offered him a hand and pulled Steve’s much calmer ass out of the trash. “Mind telling me what all this is about?” It was a demand, not a question.

Steve let out a heaving breath, defeated. Better now to come clean than later when ego and shame clouded his judgment. “He lied to me. He fucking lied to me Sam.” He pulled at the hairs on the top of his head, as if doing so would somehow make this whole crazy mess make sense. Both his heart and his brain were going around a mile a minute. His entire body was vibrating with energy. “I don’t know what makes it worse; the fact that he’s part of the mafia, or the fact that he used me to help them.”

“Wait, wait, slow down.” Sam grabbed Steve’s agitated body. He pressed down into Steve’s shoulders, centring him in the moment. Patiently, Sam waited for the shaking to subside before asking his question. As Steve slowly adjusted to breathing at regular intervals, Sam asked, in a low and comforting tone, “What happened up there?”

A breath caught in his throat. Steve tried to swallow it and push it down along with the horrible truth, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Now not. Not to Sam. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing through the pain. “Tony is part of the Iron Family,” he said, hanging his head in shame.

Sam looked confused. “What? Like an acquaintance?”

“No, like,” the words caught in his throat again. Steve tried to work around it, beat around the bush if possible. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to say it. If he said it, then it would become true. And if it was true, then… Steve couldn’t stand to imagine what that could mean.

But as he gasped for air and grasped for words, he realized it was too late for that. It was true, whether Steve admitted it or not. And saying it or not saying it wouldn’t change the fact that it was true.

Steve’s shoulder slumped over in despair. He held his head in his hand with just enough support to keep his head above water. “I think he’s a part of the inner circle,” he mumbled in confession.

Sam didn’t say anything. He just let go of Steve in shock. Giving into gravity, Steve sat down against the cold brick. Despair washing over him as Sam staggered back. “Shit,” was the only thing Sam could say, rubbing wrinkles into his forehead.

“Yeah,” Steve huffed in agreement. “Had a picture of their first hit here hung up like a fucking trophy. Basically admitted that I helped spark the flame that hit the Hydra base a few weeks back.”

Hot tears stung his eyes. “How could he do those horrible things?” asked Steve, trying to hold back as much as he could. “He was lying to me this entire time Sam. What else did he lie about? He never said it with words, but did he lie about liking me?” Steve let out a warm breath into his hands. “I don’t even want to imagine what else he lied about.”

Sam joined him on the curb, letting the white noise of cars on the street fill in the silence.

Steve sniffed, wiping invisible snot away from his nose. “They’re gonna come after us,” said Steve. “Once Tony tells Iron Man, they’ll come after us and kill us.” It wasn’t a guess. It was a statement. That’s how things worked with the mafia. Once a family secret leaked out, it didn’t stay leaked for long.  Those with unwanted information either ended up with an obituary in the morning paper, or on a list of people gone missing under strange and mysterious circumstances.

“Tony tried to tell me to forget about it. Like that will help any. If he tells, fuck, who am I kidding, of course he’s going to tell. Family comes first. Family always comes first.” He hung his head between his legs. “Can’t fucking deal with this right now, Sam. I can’t fucking do this anymore.”

Sam nodded in solidarity. He placed a comforting hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just let the silence speak for itself. When he did speak, it sounded like a light joke, but felt a whole lot heavier. “Guess that’s it for the guns, huh?”

Steve let out a painfully forced laugh and rolled his eyes to the sky. “That’s the least of our problems.”

His problems didn’t even include the trouble Tony would be in when the Iron Family found out. Fuck. Steve almost forgot about that little aspect of mafia families. Not only would Steve be punished for finding out, but Tony would also be punished for letting the proverbial cat out of the bag.

There wasn’t much clear information about mafia politics on the street, but Steve could very well speculate from what was whispered in back alleys. Once Iron Man found out about Tony’s slip, fuck. Steve figured Tony’s life wouldn’t be on the line, he seemed like too valuable an asset to be disposed of by the usual means. But with the reputation Iron Man had, me might take Tony all the way to the brink of death before making the man plead for his life.

Didn’t take much imagination to see it. Iron Man, holding a beaten and battered Tony over hot liquid iron. Lip bleeding and one eye blackened from interrogation, Steve could almost hear Tony begging for the pain to stop.

Steve shivered at the image. The longer his imagination dwelt on the possibilities, the worse it got for Tony. What if Iron Man wasn’t so merciful? What he if did more than torture? Steve could go back for him right now. Rescue him like a knight in shining armour.

But at what cost? As much as Steve adored Tony, and still did despite their fight, Tony wasn’t family. And family always came first.

“So, what do we do now?” asked Sam.

Steve knew Sam meant well, but the expectant look in his eyes, Steve couldn’t deal with it right now. He let out a rushed breath of exhaustion, letting his head fall and his shoulder slouch. “Something, nothing, I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his head with a calloused hand. He was out of ideas before, and now he was out of energy. “All I do know is that whatever we do, we better do it quick. We’re running out of time.”

 

They sat for what felt like hours, both in deep consideration about what should or could happen next. Neither of them noticed a slim shadow a slim shadow creep over them.

The slim figure chuckled. “Looks like you lost something important,” said a familiar female voice.

Steve looked up. When he saw who it was, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Never in his life was he so relieved to see the color red. Gorgeous as always, the former Natalia Romanova sauntered down toward them. The scent of New York dogs wafting down in their direction.

“Natasha.” Without thinking of how he looked or how he smelled, he stood up and embraced his old friend. Her arms immediately went up to protect the food offerings, but Steve didn’t mind. What mattered to him, at this moment, was a friendly face and a trustworthy comrade.

He held her close, taking in the familiar scent as memories from before surged in his mind. The crunch of Russian snow under their feet. Cold north air burning the inside of their warm lungs. The sharp scent of heat from bullets whizzing in the air. Good memories of Russia. “You have no idea how good it is to see a friendly face,” he confessed into her shoulder.

“Nice to see you too Steve,” she said, hint of a smile in her voice.

Realization hit Steve like a steam train. Wait, hadn’t Natasha found work in California? Was something wrong?

Grabbing her shoulders, Steve forced some distance between them. At first glance, nothing seemed wrong with her. Her hair was short now though, a call back to the previous decade of flapper fashion. However, Natasha was always good at hiding things. Maybe too much for her own good. “What are you doing up here anyway?” he asked, suspicious at the surprise visit.

She shrugged, casual as always. “Can’t a gal stop by to see some familiar faces? Had some work I needed to finish up here. Thought I’d check in with a friend before coming down to see you guys.”

“But how?” asked Steve. Why would a beautiful Russian angel bless them with her presence now of all times?

Sam waved a hand, guilty as charged. “I called her in a few weeks ago,” Sam admitted. “Said you needed all the help you can get, so I called the best.”

Finally, a light at the end of the ever darkening tunnel. “And you have no idea how grateful I am for that.”

“So what’s shakin’ bacon?” asked Natasha, handing out the hot dogs in her hands. “Sam told me a little bit before I had to get up and get some dogs.”

“And didn’t even need a loan to get ‘em. Looks like somebody has been able to take care of herself,” Sam joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Natasha feigned annoyance. “Please. I’m a big girl Steve. Found myself a real job and everything. Pays well too.” she said with a smile, as if finally settling into her own skin.

“Better than how we’ve been doing lately,” bemoaned Steve, looking down at the processed meat as if it had answer.

She tilted her head like a curious cat. “Things not going how you planed ‘em?” she asked, sympathy in her voice.

Steve let out a tired chuckle. “Understatement of the year.”

Natasha didn’t say anything at first. She took a bite of her dog and chewed in silent solidarity. When she did speak, it was short and direct. “Give me the skinny. How can I help?”

“Nat-” The last thing he needed was another person dragged into his downward spiral of drama. And Natasha had been through so much. A refugee from Russia working an honest job in hopes of the American dream; it wouldn’t be fair to ask for her help.

She stopped him mid-sentence. “What did you tell me back in Russia?” she asked, jabbing a finger into Steve’s face. “Whatever happens, we do it together. Same goes for you Steve. I may be trying to keep myself on the straight and narrow, but I’m not heartless. I know you have a hard time asking for stuff, but if you ever need me, you know I’ll back you up. I owe you, Steve. And you know how much I hate owing favours to people.

Steve did know. And as much as he told her again and again that she didn’t owe him anything for safe passage out of Russia, it was times like these where she held it to him.

Steve released a tired rush of air. Damn his pride. He might as well say it. Couldn’t make things any worse for them. “Unless you got access to a weapons cache, don’t know how much help anyone can be,” he muttered, not caring if she could clearly hear him.

Natasha blinked a few times and then looked to the sky. See? Pointless.

The trio sat in silence, both Sam and Steve savouring the suddenly tasteless dog. Natasha rapped her well-kept nails on the cobblestone road. She made some faces at the sky before pushing herself up off the ground. Her posture was confident and her head nodded up and down with reassurance. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay what?” Steve asked suspiciously.

“I’ll have a look around,” she said, crumpling up the paper in her delicate hands. “See if I can’t find anything your speed. Might be awhile, need to do a little digging in places I haven’t looked in on in a long time, but it should be worth the wait.”

Sam held up a hand to slow the conversation. “Wait, you’re actually going to go out looking for guns for us?”

“Do you not want me to?” she asked, tilting her head like a confused dog.

“No!” Steve yelled, jumping at the force of his own voice. He pulled back, realizing that it was too much force and not enough explanation. He cleared his throat. “No, but I thought you were trying to keep your nose clean.” Ex-Russian spy, poking around in places where she shouldn’t, not always a good thing if the feds stopped by to pay a visit.

She shrugged. “Who said I’m not?”

“But”

“Steve, let me ask you this,” she leaned forward enough that her sharp green eyes were levelled with his tired blues. “Do you really want to argue semantics with me, or do you really want those guns.”

He looked away, already feeling the guilt gnawing away on his insides. It may be a question of semantics, but to Steve, the excuse made him feel like he was no better than those creeps working with Hydra. “I don’t want them Nat. I need them. There’s a difference.” And it broke his heart to confess that weakness aloud.

“Sure there is,” she reassured him with an all knowing smile. Natasha pulled away, giving Steve a little space as she thought aloud about the specifics. “Knowing Barnes, he’ll want the shiniest meat-cycle I can find.” She began pacing back and forth, muttering in Russian under her breath. “Can you give me a few days to shop around before I report back?” she asked. “Little rusty when it comes to the local intel, but I should be able to find something.”

“Sure,” mumbled Steve, not caring what horrible things she could be plotting. “Take your time.” Natasha would be true to her word, that Steve could be sure of. But now that one problem was taken care of, all that was left was left for him to stew on was the recent turn of events in his private life.

Natasha stopped pacing. She bent down to Steve’s level and tried to look him in the eye. “Everything okay Steve?” she asked, her voice gentle.  “Last time I saw you, New York hot dogs picked you right up.”

Steve buried his head in his arms. He didn’t say anything. But Sam was more than willing to ante up the information. “Steve and his boyfriend go in a fight.”

Not wanting to air out his dirty laundry in public like this, Steve glared at Sam.

“What?” asked Sam, looking too offended for someone who did wrong “It’s true.”

Natasha’s face softened. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, placing a warm hand on top of his. He squeezed it for strength and she rubbed a comforting thumb across the back of his hand. “It’ll get better. You’ll see.”

She would know. Natasha would know better than most; losing not only her family, but her country in the Russian revolution. And like the Natasha back then, running away from the revolutionaries in the black of night, across the cold Eurasian terrain, Steve didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had to keep moving if he wanted to survive.

“Can’t be worried about that right now,” he said, trying to put on a brave face. “Team comes first. I can always drown myself in my sorrows after all this is over.”

* * *

 

“Natasha, what the hell are you trying to pull?” hissed Bucky from their hiding spot.

Natasha, not bothering to hide her disinterest, was examining her nails. “What?”

“I thought you said you would find us a weapons cache. “

“Yeah, and I did,” she replied flippantly.

“The hell you did,” whispered Bucky. “This is much more than an ordinary weapons cache.”

Steve agreed with Bucky. The corporate feel radiating off the military rows of warehouses didn’t bode well in his gut. Place was too clean. Not a patch of red rust in sight despite the drops of Atlantic water spraying across the cement dock. Plenty of shadows to hide in, but not a single light in the row of lampposts flickered from shoddy filament.

“So what?” Natasha asked with a shrug of her shoulders. “You gonna to scold me for going above and beyond your expectations?”

Steve poked his head out from behind their wall of wooden crates, looking for anyone making nightly rounds. “No,” he whispered. “But of all the places you could have picked, you pick the one that looks like it get the most foot traffic and the most likely place for people to notice stuff going missing.”

Natasha sighed. The same type of sigh adults gave their children when telling them there were no monsters under the bed. “I told you Steve, don’t worry about it. I got information from a reliable source that the owners won’t notice a thing.”

“Would this perchance be the railroad conductor you were talking about yesterday?” asked Thor, leaning up against the wall of their hiding spot.

Natasha did that little half smile thing that she did whenever she was being clever. “And what if it is?” she asked, an amused lit in her voice. “We redheads have to stick together.”

Thor’s brow furrowed in concern. The grip on his hammer tightened. “I thought you were trying to stay out of trouble,” concern clear in his deep voice.

She gave a light sigh, as if humouring a child. “I am,” she said.

Bucky was not happy with that answer. “Then what the hell are we doing here of all places?”

“It’s a job,” she said, seeming tired of the debate. “It’s a recon job and it pays. I just did a little extra research to see if we can’t take some of the goods. We can, so here we are.”

“What type of job leads you to a place like this?” asked Sam.

She rolled her eyes. “A job that utilizes all of my assets.”

That got Steve to raise an eyebrow. “Really?” he asked in muted disbelief. “You're soliciting those assets? I thought you gave up spying when we got you out of Russia.”

She shrugged. “Just because I didn’t like using them for the home country doesn’t mean I don’t like using them at all. Besides,” she slipped on a pair of black gloves. “I need to keep myself up to par. Don’t want to get sloppy. And if I’m going to get paid for a job, I’d rather get paid doing this than singing at a jazz bar, draping myself over the piano to solicit a good time.”

Steve shivered at the image. The brave, fearless fighter that he had gotten to know in the cold north amidst the insane Russian revolution, reduced to a nameless pretty face for men to get off to. He could see how that life could leave something to be desired. Still didn’t settle the feeling in his stomach that what she was doing was wrong.

A renowned spy with a name like Black Widow shouldn’t have to reduce herself to prostitution just to get food on the table. Immigrant life was tough, but considering her past and the skill set at her disposal, Natasha should have a better life than this. Could have a better life than this. If only she had stayed with them for a few months, built herself a little nest egg, networked, instead of hoping on the next train west in pursuit of the golden arches.

The frustration and concern must have shown on his face because her eyes softened at the display of concern from her friends. “Don’t worry, boys,” she reassured them. Her voice was like warm, soft hands. “I’m a big girl. I know what I’m doing.”

Bucky wasn’t as convinced. He did one more scan of the docks before ducking back down to join the group. “I don’t know about this,” worry and shadows cast deep lines in his face.

“What?” asked Natasha. “My life choices or my choice of work?”

“The location,” huffed Buck, casting a brief outline of a warm puff of air. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

“Agreed,” chimed Thor, joining Bucky in his scrutiny.

“Look, you want in or not?” Natasha was getting impatient. “Take it or leave it, but I ain’t offering this to anyone else. And as much as you may or may not like it, I have a job to do. So?” She gave each of the boy’s critical looks, daring them to back down now. “Are you in or out?”

Passing glances passed between Sam, Thor, and Bucky before all eyes landed on Steve. They had discussed this before, but that didn’t make taking what they needed for their survival any easier. They all felt how wrong this was in their gut, but they also felt the burning of bullets on their skin as well as the sleepless worry that plagued their dreams in the dark of night. “Do we have a choice?” asked a defeated Sam.

Steve desperately wanted to say no. He could find another way. Would find another way, but they were out of time and at the end of their resources. They were at the end of the line. Begrudgingly, Steve gave nodded in approval. “Let’s just get what we need and get out of here.”

Natasha nodded, understanding the gravity of what the Brooklyn Boys were about to do. Turning so she was crouched down on the balls of her feet, she did one last inspection of the lit path.

Coast clear, she slipped into the shadows of the night without a trace.

Steve and company waited quietly behind their hiding spot, adrenaline beginning to pump its way into their veins. Now was not the time for sloppy errors. Now was the time to be alert and committed one hundred percent to what they were about to do.

Like clockwork, the light above the warehouse entrance went out without a sound. No shattering of glass, meaning the lightbulb would be returned to its spot at the end of the heist. Couldn’t be doing stupid things to arouse suspicion this late in the game. In the emptiness, they heard the familiar metallic clicks of a lock pick as it worked the tumblers. It felt like the process took hours, but they were more than willing to move when the familiar opening click and squeak of the door gave them notice.  Natasha gave the signal, a normally ignorable pattern of rocks falling to the ground, signaling them to proceeded as planned. With no time to waste, the Brooklyn Boys moved fast out of the shadows and up against the cold brick side of Warehouse Sixteen.

They took a few calming breaths before Natasha pressed her small elbow against Steve’s side.

“Stay close,” she whispered, slipping past the door and into the shadows of the warehouse.  “There’s a lot of dangerous stuff here and not all of it is what you want.”

With a nod of confirmation, the Brooklyn Boys slipped in, one by one, Thor making sure to do one last scan for trouble before shutting the door behind them.

* * *

 

“What is this place?” asked Bucky, scanning over the towers and pyramid of mismatched crates and boxes. Various shades of grey dust blanketed the large packages.

“Company warehouses,” Natasha explained. She walked with a purpose deeper into the building, occasionally checking crates for labels or identification. “Places like Oscorp, Hammer Industries, Pym Technologies, and Stark Industries store parts here until they are needed. Think of it like a really big storage shed where you hide stuff you think you’re going to use later, but never really do. It’s a packrat’s dream house.”

“So what?” probed Bucky, eying a large standing crate. “We’re just going to open a box and pick out some old tech.”

“Do you know the one thing in common all four of those companies have?” asked Natasha, dismissing another tower of dust covered cubes. “Very intelligent, very stupid men at the top of the tower.”

“Not arguing there,” Steve muttered under his breath. His thoughts immediately went to a very specific, very attractive person who fit the description.

If she heard Steve’s contempt, Natasha showed no sign of disagreeing. “These men: Osborne, Hammer, Pym, Stark, they seem to have a disposition for the crazy and borderline unethical side of science. Every day they test the boundaries between impossible and mad scientist. When they’re successful, those products go on the market to be shared with the world. The unsuccessful ones; well, those are hidden away. Out of sight, out of mind,” she said, pointing to a box sporadically rumbling  at odd intervals. “They end up here, hidden among things that might be useful in twenty years or so.”

“So by all means,” she said, with a careless air. “Open a random box. Just don’t come to me when your face melts off because you get a glance of some experiment gone awry. You never know if the stuff here is just put away for later or put away for good.”

Bucky’s hand stopped centimetres away from unsettling the gray dust on the unlabelled lid. “Good point,” he said, gingerly moving away. Maybe that brain of his was working after all.

“Those ones, over there.” Natasha pointed to a short stacked island of boxes, isolated from the other misaligned stacks.

Steve squinted. The crates looked like everything else in this place. Besides the stacks being a hair misaligned, what made these ones special that Natasha would point them out?

Steve brushed the top of one for dust. He looked at the results and rubbed away the wooden texture tingeing the nerves. The tip of his finger came out clean. “They seem new,” Steve concluded with a perplexed wrinkle in his brow. Something didn’t feel right. Everything around them was covered in a grey blanket of dust. Why were these different? What made these special? They were conveniently close to a metal garage door and a loading dock. But there could be a multitude of reasons for their placement.

“They are new,” Natasha confirmed. “And less likely to blow up in our faces when we open them,” Natasha added with a nod of approval.

Smooth as an assembly line, and as quiet as mice, Thor worked the lids open while Sam and Bucky carefully placed them on the ground. As they peered into the crate the gang began to smile as Steve’s heart sunk. It was like Christmas, but with less cheer and more guilt. Steve reached in and pulled out a cold, sleek handgun. He shifted the semi in his hands, letting the gravity of the gun sink into his hands and his conscience. This was people’s hard work and honest pay he was taking. This was someone’s bread and butter. It wasn’t right to take something like this.

And yet he had to. If he didn’t take it, he would die. It he took it, someone else might die in his place. It wasn’t that he needed it more than them, whoever ‘they’ were, but he needed to do what was necessary to protect his people. It was days like today that he hated that the world was such a cold and unfair place.

Everyone else was smiling in celebration. Bucky was busy admiring the scope of a beautiful rifle, testing out the balance and recoil with empty rounds. Meanwhile, Thor and Sam worked at popping open the lids like they were boxes of cracker jacks. Natasha, as was par for the course in her line of work, was nowhere to be seen.

Sam cracked open a long crate. Pushing the lid over so it fell to the ground with a clatter, he looked at the examined the contents inside and whistled. “What the hell is this?”

“Whatever it is, if you don’t recognize it, don’t take it,” commanded Steve, stuffing bullets into a magazine. “We don’t need more trouble than we already got.

“Oh no, I recognize it all right,” Sam said, grabbing the lid to cover up whatever was inside. “But I have no idea what it’s for.”

“Hey! Look guys!” Bucky called from one of the long, darkened aisles of crates. “I found a robot!” The excitement in his voice was eerily similar to the blinding smile on Bucky’s face when he got that wooden truck for Christmas years ago.

Steve tried not to let his frustration show. This was a very serious operation that needed to succeed. Now wasn’t the time to indulge in childish excitement over some inventor’s discarded toys. “Stop playing around,” ordered Steve. The guilt was beginning to claw its way into his gut and he didn’t have time to question the morality what they were doing. “If we can’t use it, put it back.”

“But guys,” wined Bucky. “It’s a girl robot. It’s got tata’s and everything.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned.

“Not like it can do anything to us.” The rap of knuckles on metal rattled Steve’s nerves.

“Bucky,” Steve gave his best friend the famous ‘Cap is disappointed in you’ voice.

“Fine,” grumbled Bucky, shutting up the box up tight with a disappointed slam of wood against metal. “Fun killer. Not all of us can bounce between dicks and chicks whenever we please.”

As much as it boiled his ego, Steve stayed quiet. They had bigger things to take care of and talking wasn’t helping any.

They loaded up as best they could without Nat’s help (that dame could hide a tank in her trousers if she really wanted to). Working as quick as possible, the boys shovelled bullets into magazines, loaded up about half a dozen guns, and stuffed their jackets, pockets, waistbands, and suspenders with as much loot as they could carry. Handguns, grenades, and small knives of various sorts were hard to hide on one’s person without rousing suspicion or dropping trousers, but the guys did their best.

As expected, Bucky insisted on having a rifle at his side, at the ready. Maybe it would turn heads if they walked down the wrong streets, but Bucky was stubborn like that and Steve was smart enough to know how to keep them out of the eye of scrutiny.

Abruptly, Thor stiffened and stopped. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, holding out a hand to stop the others from their work.

“Hear what?” Sam asked, voice not quite quiet enough to be a whisper.

“Shh!” hushed Steve, trying to listen. His hand floated froze mid-air. He didn’t dare think about pushing the bullet in his hand into the magazine. The slightest sound and they could be gonners.

He waited on pins and needles, preparing himself for a shit storm. Who could it possibly be at this time of night? Insomniatic inventors looking for a late night muse? Late night sea hands checking for anything out of the ordinary?

The only sound blasting in Steve’s ears came from the shallow breath of his brothers. Seconds slowly ticked by. Not a sound. Maybe Thor was wrong. Maybe he really didn’t hear anything. But Steve couldn’t take that chance. Gulping down his nerves, Steve began to slowly count to ten. If Steve didn’t hear anything by the time he reached ten, it would be a false alarm and they could get the hell out of dodge.

One.

Two.

Three.

Thor readied his hammer, emitting a soft squeak from the well-worn leather.

Four.

Five.

Bucky shouldered the rifle, eyes up and alert for anything suspicious.

Six.

Seven.

Sam looked doubtful that something was amiss, but from the hand on sawtooth blade, didn’t look like he was taking any chances.

Eight.

Shit. Where was Natasha?

Nine.

Te-

A loud crunch of shifting gravel from the outside.

A cold breath caught in Steve’s throat, forcing him to stagger back. Shit. Thor was right. They weren’t alone.

There was another crunch of gravel. And another. The rapid crunching of stones under feet made it sounded like an army was forming right outside the thin metal door.

Steve took another step back, as if to get away from the thing gathering around the outside of the warehouse. He began to panic. Was it the feds? Shit. How the hell did they find out?

From outside the building, they heard the sound of glass raining down onto the pavement. The small amount of light filtering in from the windows high above their head begins to disappear.

Steve’s stomach dropped. Cops don’t take out lights. Cops were stupid and marched in single fine like cattle. If these people were smart enough to take out the lights so people wouldn’t be able to see, if it wasn’t the cops, who in the hell could it be?

Steve’s pulse raced with adrenaline. Breaking lights and gathering an army right outside a warehouse of discarded technology; that definitely didn’t seem like the type of thing a person on the straight and narrow would do. Crooks shattered lights to hide what they were doing and to make a statement. Whoever was on the other sided of the door, shattering the fragile filaments, Steve had no desire to meet them face to face.

“Let’s get what we came for and get out of here,” he harshly whispered to his crew. Thor, Sam, and Bucky began packing up and putting lids back where they belonged, but they were too slow. He could see the shake in Sam’s hands as he clumsily dropped the wooden lid down with a defeating clatter. “Now!” hissed Steve.

 

A sharp crack from the catwalk above their heads broke Steve from his panicked haze. He looked up toward the noise just in time to see a flash of something silver fly past his cheek and bury itself into one of the dust covered wooden box behind him.

A panicked voice called out from the darkness. “Cap!”

“I’m fine! Keep going.” he called back. The last thing he needed was his crew slowing down and getting caught. They needed to get gone, but as the leader, Steve needed to know what they were dealing with.

The heat from the graze still stung his cheek. He ran a finger over the inflamed flesh. No blood, that was a good thing, wasn’t it? With one hand, he covered his cheek, whirling around to see what sort of thing could have hit him in an almost pitch black room.

Embedded in the wood was a single arrow. The purple shaft and feathers still wobbled from the impact, as if mocking him. Steve noticed a small bulge at the tip as well as a white note attached to the shaft.

Curiosity ruled out reason as he cautiously approached  the hanging message. Written on the page, in large mocking letters were four letters.

“HA HA.”

Shit.

Steve felt the heat of the explosion before he heard the click of dangerous chemicals mixing. He threw his arms up for protection at the last second, but it did little good in terms of protection. Heat from the explosion singed the palms of his hands. The sheer force of the blast threw him off his feet and into a tower of containers, knocking the wind out of his lungs.

The impact of metal on flesh rattled Steve to the bone. Everything felt off and, for a few seconds, time slowed. A sharp taste of silver metal raced across his tongue as he fell to the ground. The heel of his hand met concrete, sending a debilitating pain up his arms, crippling his elbows.

A high pitched ring pierced his ears as he slowly shook himself back into reality. Steve tried to stand, but his entire body trembled like a fall leaf. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guys come over to help him up; mouths moving a mile a minute, faces covered in worry. Steve to shake out the empty screams in his head, but he wasn’t able to make out a word beyond the deafening white noise. He tried to ignore the pain, but it was no good. Steve’s body refused to move any faster than required.

Precious seconds ticked by before his limbs began to respond. Steve could tell the singing nerves would slowly come back to life, but for the moment everything felt like a swarm of wasps were going to town on his body. Thank goodness everything was responding and nothing felt broken. Intense stinging on his hands meant a few small splints of wood were embedded into his exposed hands, but he would survive.

Steve tried to take a moment and catch his breath. His head was cloudy, but he tried anyway. In and out. In and out. Slow and steady breaths in time with the ground’s pulses.

Pulses in the ground?

Fear gripped his stomach as the intensity of the vibrations underground increased. Before he heard or saw anything, Steve felt the weight of heavy feet rattling the concrete floor of the warehouse. His breath switched from calm breaths to quick gasps. He began to panic. Whatever was coming was big, heavy and angry.

As the dust began to clear and his hearing returned, Steve heard the ominous sounds of heavy footsteps coming close to them. Through the smoke and dust, a familiarly shaped gray figure emerged. The gray helmet shone in the little moonlight filtering in from the windows as it slowly stomped toward them.

Steve shouldn’t have been scared of a man. But what he saw come out of the dust was something new and terrifying. War Machine was encased in a large mass of metal, making the man look broader and stronger than ever before. The large metal hands attached to the steel torso looked like they could crush a man without breaking a sweat. A captivating blue light emanated from the centre of War Machine’s chest, radiating raw energy.

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck stood up. What in name of all that was good and holy was this thing? Is this what the Iron Family had forced Tony to work on?

A high-pitched whistle came from War Machine’s chest. His face was expressionless, but the shadows cast by the bright light made it look as if he had no qualms of eradicating the Brooklyn Boys right then and there.

Steve tried to stay calm, but his short breaths betrayed his fear. War Machine had found them. He had found out, and now he was going to end them.

War Machine raised a hand, and small ball of energy began forming in its palm. “You have trespassed on the turf of the Iron Family,” it announced ominously. “Prepare to face the consequences.”

Shit. No! They couldn’t go down like this. Steve had to-

“Get down idiot!”

War Machine released a blast of energy. At the last second, Bucky pushed Steve out of the way, diving behind broken parts for cover. Steve fell face first into another blanket of dust as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck burn at the intense pressure.

The machine whirled down as the light recharged. But the peace didn’t last long. With a forward jerk, War Machine shouldered a daunting weapon and began sending rounds into the darkness of the warehouse.

Bucky covered his head, holding Steve’s face to the ground as long as he could. Steve tried not to move, but survival instincts were screaming for him to get out of there as fast as he could.

The round of bullets stopped, and Steve hear Thor’s battle cry from the far side of the building. He peaked out from under the rubbage just in time to see another beam of bright light fire off in the distance.

Steve ducked down as the noise of ricocheting bullets resumed. There was another one? There was another version of War Machine out there? How many of these things did the Iron Family have?

Suddenly, the rain of bullets stopped.

Steve waited in silence, dreading the next move the monster would make.

“Keep it together Cap,” Bucky shook Steve back to his senses.

Steve looked at his best friend, covered in dust and rubble, and tried to nod. They had been through much worse in the service, but seeing Bucky once again battered and covered with the remains of war, it shook Steve right out of it.

Bucky was right. Now was not the time to cower in fear. Now was the time to do what was necessary to get them out of there.

Bucky popped a look over their barricade just in time to see War Machine turn and walk away to the noise at the other end of the building.

“Looks like Thor and Falcon are keeping them busy,” reported Bucky, joining Steve. “I also heard someone up on the catwalk making a lot of noise earlier.”

“Then take ‘em out,” ordered Steve. He was beginning to feel more like himself and less like a frantic, emotional civilian. “I want to know what the hell is going on and how many more of those things we’ll have to deal with to get out.”

“What about Natasha?”

“I’ll take care of that,” assured Steve. “Just get those two punks out before they mess up somebody’s face.”

“On it,” Bucky confirmed with a nod. Without hesitation, he hoped over the shoddy cover and ran towards the action.

“Don’t forget save ammo!” Steve yelled over the beat of bullets.

“No promises Cap,” Bucky called back with a careless laugh.

Steve skulked off the in the other direction. After showing them the weapons, Natasha had conveniently disappeared. But she couldn’t have gotten far, right?

Pistol to the ground, Steve cautiously passed row after row of dark storage units. The sounds of bullets and battle cries felt far behind him.

As he passed a row that looked like every other before it, he heard a familiar whirring of power. He looked and saw a small circular glow of power lighting up a larger figure. Only a few paces from him stood another metal man similar to War Machine. But this one was different. This one was painted a vibrant shade of red with rich gold accents. Steve’s eyes narrow and his shoulders tightened.

This man was Iron Man.

Angry surged into Steve’s blood. His vision zoomed in on the figure as he pulled back the safety on the gun. He lifted the pistol with both hands and began firing at the figure. It didn’t matter that each bullet pinged off the metal casing. Steve wanted him dead. He wanted to pierce the heart of the man who used Tony before beating his body into a bloody pulp.

He let out a battle cry and rushed the lone figure, swinging the butt of the gun toward the taller man’s helmet.

Iron Man batted away the gun like it was nothing before landing a punch right in the kisser. Steve went down like a ton of bricks, shocked that he hadn’t been knocked out by the intensity of the hit.

Steve didn’t bother to lift his head when he heard the familiar whine of energy. The bright definition of white light against Steve’s dark shadow told him more than enough. He was dead. A single blast from Iron Man’s hand would end him. If he was lucky, Bucky might be able to retrieve some of his ashes after the battle.

He closed his eyes, ready to welcome death with open arms when he heard it.

“Steve?”

Steve’s eyes snapped. There was no mistaking it. No way he misheard that memorable sound. Didn’t matter where he was or what he was doing, Steve would have recognized the voice immediately.

‘Tony!?’

Panic gripped his heart. Where was Tony? What the hell was he doing in a place like this? Was he in trouble? Worse, was he in danger? Was the Iron Family holding him hostage because of what happened with Steve? He had to find him. He had to find Tony.

The pure bright light enveloped his sight, the sheer power behind the blast pinning to the ground. Steve clenched his hands and tried to stay strong. He had to. He had to survive to survive the attack. He had to make sure Tony was alright. He had to-

Click.

“TONY!”

BOOM!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all the chapters for this year. Hope you don't mind the cliff hanger. I've got five Christmas fics in various stages of production, so I want to focus on getting those done before the holidays hit. Keep an eye out for them if you're interested.
> 
> You can find "A Tree in Rockefeller Center" [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5481758) and an eventual gift fic, "A Skate to Remember" [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5452130)
> 
> We got about five more chapters left of unknown length left in this sinker. Sorry for the wait guys, but if I can persist, we're in for one hell of a ride.


	13. Peroxide Swing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't be cool. Don't be slick. You just keep on swingin', keep on swingin'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that I'm so late and I'm sorry that it's so long. Hope it was worth the wait.
> 
> Quickly betaed by kuailong, but any errors are mine. Let me know if you find any that bother you.

“Steve?”

Tony had only seconds to realize his mistake when a small disk embedded itself into the left arm of the armor. A familiar tick, tick, boom and wave of exploding heat sent Iron Man stumbling back into the dust-covered boxes.

Iron Man’s arms waved back and forth, trying to find something to hang on to. His hand grazed the side of something solid. Praying for something sturdy enough to support him, Tony made a desperate grab for the beam. He missed and fell down to the floor with a loud crash.

Tony grunted, feeling the disconcerting crunch of exposed metal and wires breaking under the weight of the suit. Well, that put the left gauntlet out of commission for now. He tried to push himself up, but the extra weight of the armor threw off his balance. The internal sensors were going wild from the shock as he tried to right himself despite blinding white stars in his eyes. The second he got his footing, Tony whipped around to locate the bastard that dared attack him.

Muffled by the helmet and woefully limited by the small eye slots, Tony spotted a red headed woman duck behind a makeshift barricade where the thieves were making their last stand. 

 “Snap out of it Steve,” said the muffled voice as she dragged him away from Tony.

His heart skipped a beat as his chest trapped the thin air in his lungs. So it was Steve. His eyes hadn’t deceived him.

“Steve!” he yelled, trying to chase after the blond man.

Shots rang out and a barrage of bullets rained down on him. Acting on instinct, Tony’s arms shot up to covered his head with the dusty red armor. The hard sound of machine gun fire combined with the high pitched pings of bullets ricocheting off his suit made it impossible for him to move forward.

A familiar flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and the bullets stopped.

“What the hell were you thinking boss?” yelled Rescue over the high pitched cries of her repulses. “Get your ass over here!”

Oh right. Not getting hit by bullets. Good idea.

‘But Steve-’ his hindbrain objected.

‘No,’ Tony though, pushing the protest to the back of his mind. ‘Figure this shit out first, then go after Steve. Wouldn’t do either of them any good if he was dead.’

Grunting in frustration, Tony dashed for safety as Rescue provided cover.

“What the hell are you thinking boss?” Pepper demanded, joining him behind the assortment of crates acting as cover.

“Nothing,” grumbled Tony, jamming a switch on the suit. A red light flashed on, indicating the built in radio was alive and receiving. Screw radio silence. He was going to get to the bottom of this if it was the last thing he did.

“Can anybody tell me who in their right mind invited Steve to the stake out?” demanded Tony. “Because I sure as hell didn’t invite him.”

“Steve’s here?” Pepper’s eyes were wide behind the silver mask. “The same Steve that dropped by the office?”

Tony winced as the volley of bullets resumed. “And he brought company no less.”

“Don’t look at me boss,” Clint called down from the catwalk as he shot an arrow down into the fray. “I sure as hell didn’t invite Wonder bread.”

“Me neither, but I’m honestly not surprised,” grumbled Rhodey as War Machine retreated back to the end of the aisle for cover

Tony frowned. Where had that come from? Tony had only talked about Steve in passing to Rhodes. Right? “War Machine, do you have something you’d care to share with the class?”

A loud blast from far side of the building made all three iron suits jump. War Machine looked around his hideout and returned fire. His voice was high and panicky. “I really don’t think this is the time or place to-”

“Tell me!”

The clattering of empty shells stopped. Rhodey leaned his head back as far as the suit could go. “Steve is the leader of the Brooklyn Boys,” he confessed with an exasperated sigh. “Figured it out when we met the guys who were gonna sell us the hooch. Knew we’d run into them again, but never expected it to be like this.”

Tony was, to say the least, livid. “And you decide to tell me this now!?”

“I was going to tell you the day of the drop,” Rhodey said, trying to defend himself. “But Rescue said unless it was life or death-”

“Oh! So we’re making it my fault that all this is crashing down around our ears?” asked very pissed off Pepper.

Tony could hardly believe his ears. He gave Rescue an accusatory glare. “Did you know about this?”

“No!” Pepper almost screamed in outrage. “If I did, I would have told you immediately.”

“Then why the hell would you keep something like this from me?” asked Tony. To him, it didn’t make a lick of sense. He was the boss. The boss was supposed to know everything.

A tired groan came from grey armor. “I was trying to protect you,” Rhodey conceded. “You haven’t been yourself since the fight with Steve and-”

“I can handle myself just fine,” snapped Tony.

“But you haven’t seen yourself the past few days,” Rhodey insisted. “Tones, you’re a mess. We know you’re driven to get the guys who took your heart. But the last few days have been the worse we’ve ever seen. You’ve been running yourself ragged building and inventing and frankly it’s beginning to scare us.”

Tony opened his mouth to object (because Rhodey was very much full of shit) when he beat Tony to the punch. “When was the last time you had a decent amount of sleep?” asked Rhodey, looking down his unseen nose. “When was the last time you ate everything Jarvis didn’t prepare for you? And no, coffee doesn’t count.”

“That’s none of your concern.” Tony immaturely replied.

Up on the catwalk, Clint laughed in disbelief. “Fuck you, it is.”

Rhodey awkwardly shuffled the armor around so Tony could see the sincerity in his friend’s dark brown eyes. “You’re not just our boss, you’re my best friend Tones. So forgive me if I had no desire to make it any worse.”

“And shooting at Steve would make this situation better?”

Rhodey’s eyes suspiciously shifted to the side. “It made sense in the moment,” he mumbled in embarrassment. Yeah right. As if that wasn’t code for ‘I don’t approve of who you’re dating, so I’m going to give him a very _literal_ shovel talk.’

“Look! I know betrayal hurts-”

“Rhodey,” Tony interrupted, his voice already testy. “I’m a grown man,” he said, pushing down the urge to shoot his best friend in the face with a very strong repulsor blast. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much.”

“Uh... I’m going to have to disagree with that,” quipped Clint.

The regular beating of shots started up again. Tony listened under the cover of his hands. High pitched, irregularly displaced pings. They were either warning shots or someone was trying to lure them out of hiding.

“You really want to help me,” Tony said, losing patience with the entire miscommunication deal. “You get me an opportunity to talk to him, sort all this madness out.”

“Not quite sure you’re gonna get that chance boss,” called Clint as he cocked an arrow. “They seem really intent on killing us for some reason.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

Across the aisle separating the two families, Steve screamed bloody murder. “I’m gonna make your rich ass face lick pavement when I’m done with you.”

“Something along those lines,” Cling said in a deadpan voice as he let go of another arrow.

Tony mentally groaned. Now was not the time or the place for name calling. He had to focus. The ricocheting bullets were slowly changing angles of impact. Meaning; Iron Man had to figure out a way to keep them pegged down so they couldn’t make off and escape.

The bullets stopped.

Perfect. Just the opportunity Tony needed.

“We gotta split up,” Iron Man said, mind present and ready to command his troops. “War Machine and Rescue, you two cover me and make sure those whack jobs don’t escape. Keep ‘em nice and corralled. Hawkeye, keep us informed if they make any sudden movements.”

War Machine gave a curt nod and prepped for another round of attack. Rescue followed suit, but there was hesitation in her eyes. “What about you?” she asked.

“I’m going to talk to Steve,” he said, voice quiet but confident. “I’m going to clear up this whole fucking mess, and then we’re going to go home as a family and get ourselves rip roaring drunk.”

“Might not be possible boss.” Tony looked up just in time to see two figures, the mouthy brunette called Bucky and the lean redhead from earlier, climb up the rigging and onto the catwalk. Hawkeye’s signature bow slowly fell to his side as he reached for the knife hidden at the small of his back. “Looks like our guests aren’t too keen on makin’ nice.”

Shit. There went his seeing eyes. When did Steve get climbers?  And why had they chosen _now_ to move?

“Rescue, cover me,” he said, springing into action. There was no room for error now. These guys had their act together and Tony couldn’t miss a beat if he wanted to get everyone out alive.

Rescue nodded and sent a blast straight into the far blockade. That was as close to a “Be careful Tony,” ~~as~~ she could give in the circumstances.

 

Tony’s first move was to get into the light. Draw Steve’s attention to the Iron Man suit (and Jarvis had said it was a rather stupid idea making an obnoxious red and gold suit), and then get the fuck out of dodge.

Easier said than done. Tensions were high, blows were being traded midair, and there was little light in the dusty warehouse. Brightly colored suit or not, an idiot encased in metal could easily be missed. So, just to be on the safe side, he gave the Brooklyn Boys a friendly wave and threw in a couple of repulsor blasts at moving shadows. That ought to get Steve’s attention for sure.

Quick as he came in, Iron Man veered off and away from the main fight. He ran as hard as he could in a straight toward the center of the building. No time or energy for weaving in and out of aisles. He just had to trust that his family would pick off any unwanted tagalongs, and that Steve would be right behind him when he turned around.

The entirety of his plan relied on that simple fact. He had to get Steve alone. If this _genius_ plan didn’t work then, well, he better be ready to call in a cleanup crew because he wasn’t about to let nobody take those guns out scot free. He had worked too hard and they were too damn close to back down now.

 

As he stopped to catch his breath, small clouds of hot air fogging up his helmet, Tony heard a heavy set of footsteps come up behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going Red?” asked a familiar angry voice.

Tony let out a sigh of relief. Fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

Tony raised his hands and turned around slowly, trying his hardest to seem non-threatening. However, it was hard to look non-threatening when wearing a bright red and gold metal suit. “Steve, calm down. We can talk this out.” The tinny sound of his voice echoing around the metal helmet didn’t sound the least bit calming.

“That’s Captain Rogers to you jackass,” snarled Steve. He charged at Tony full speed. Tony had no choice. He charged up the repulses, but Steve was fast. In the blink of an eye, he had a fist directed at Iron Man’s head.

Shocked at Steve’s speed, Tony hesitated a second too long. Tony dodged the first hit, but a left hook made contact with the chest plate. Iron Man was unharmed, but Tony winced at the sound of bone against metal.

Steve backed up a few paces, murderous rage in his eyes. He shook off the pain and ran toward Iron Man again, screaming for blood. Steve made contact with the suit shoulder first, but the suit was stronger than mortal flesh.

Tony shook off the shock, and threw Steve off with little more than a grunt. Steve stumbled back, dazed and reaching behind him for balance.

Tony tried again, charging the right gauntlet so it glowed white. If the personal approach wasn’t working, he would have to try the professional approach. “If you know what’s good for you Captain, you will stand down right now,” declared Iron Man. “You and your people are clearly out gunned and outmatched. Give up now, and I will personally make sure the Iron Family treats this offense fairly.”

Steve didn’t answer. He just stood there, bent over and gasping for air.

For a moment, Tony had thought Steve had given up like any sane person. But Steve reached behind him and pulled something out of the shadows. He charged again, sharp shovel expertly raised in the air and aimed right at him. “Like hell we will!”

Tony’s left arm shot up to block the blunt attack. But it was no good. The shovel came down hard on his arm, forcing him to stagger back. Steve took advantage of the paralysis and swung up at the jaw line with the blunt of the weapon.

Tony knew what would happen before he felt the shockwaves under his fingers. Iron Man went down like a tower of bricks. Tony and the suit clattered to the floor with enough noise that it would rouse all of Midtown. Tony desperately tried to get the suit back up and running, but the force of the impact was wreaking havoc on his controls.

Above him, adrenaline drove Steve to laugh out loud in relief. “You’re not so bad,” said a breathless Steve. He licked his lips, dragging the metal blade on the concrete with each confident step he took. “Big man in a metal suit. Take off the armor and let’s see what’s underneath.”

“Really rather not,” groaned Tony from inside the suit.

He heard Steve test the shove’s blade against the palm of his hand. The dull thud of each hit reminded Tony exactly what would happen if Steve landed a blow on his neck.

“I won’t let you get in my way. I won’t let you hold Tony against his will,” growled Steve, stopping inches away from Iron Man’s unmoving form. “I’ll make you pay for everything you’ve done.” Steve shoved the blade of the shovel under Iron Man’s chin, digging the tip into the weak joints along the throat. “First, I’ll beat your head into a pulp. Then, I’ll take Tony someplace where you’ll never find him.”

Through the small eye slots, Tony could see the murderous resolve in Steve’s darkened eyes. It sent a chill down his spine knowing that he was the source for Steve’s dark demeanor. “Steve,” Tony begged from behind the mask.

“I many not have your resources, but I certainly have connections. Connections money can’t buy.” Steve reeled his arm back as far as it could go.

Tony looked up at the shovel, and he knew if he didn’t do something quick this was the end. The look in Steve’s eyes, the bloodlust puppeteering Steve’s every move, Steve was a man of his word and all the hurt he had sworn upon Iron Man, Tony knew that Steve would follow through.

“Goodbye Iron Man. You will not be missed.”

The Iron Man systems sprung to life, the blue light offering Tony one last hope. It was a small hope, a dangerous hope, one that might mean death for the both of them if something went wrong. But if it meant both Steve and Tony getting out of this mess alive, Tony would take that chance. Exposing his chest as much as he could, Tony released the unibeam straight into Steve’s chest.

Steve’s inhuman cry tore at Tony’s ears as the unibeam forced the blond bulk up and away from the suit. Steve’s ragdoll like corpse fell back into a pile of wooden boxes, and slumped down into an unconscious mess as the light in Iron Man’s chest dimmed.

The arc reactor wined down to a low squeal, leaving Tony a panting, gasping mess inside the metal armor.

‘What the fuck was that all about?’ Tony thought as he stumbled to an upright position. Iron Man hadn’t personally done anything to piss of Steve, right? Tony had seen Steve go a little ape-shit on those bootlegging goons a few weeks ago, but where the hell had all that controlled aggression come from?

“T – To- ny,” a small voice came from the rubble. Steve’s shaky arms tried push up against the weight of his body, but it was too much. His arms gave out and Steve flopped back down, sending up a large puff of dust. He turned on his side, eyes still closed, moaning, “Tony.”

Before he realized it, Tony was rushing over to Steve’s side. “It’s okay Steve. I’m right here,” Tony said, trying to console his friend with a reassuring touch.

A hand, quick as a snake, snapped out and grabbed Iron Man’s wrist before it made contact. Tony tried to pull away, but Iron Man’s arm was held in a death grip. Beaten blue eyes glared at him from beneath the grime. The warning was clear. Steve may be down, but he was not out for the count. “I will have your head, Iron Man,” he growled.

With a strong jerk, Steve yanked Iron Man to him. It was like an out of body experience; watching Steve’s face get closer and closer until Tony felt the impact of Iron Man’s helmet crashing against bone. Tony pulled back the second Steve’s grip loosened from the head-butt.

“Dammit Steve. Will you just calm down and listen for one second! I’m trying to tell you something!” yelled Tony as he staggered backwards. The vibrations from the hit were doing nothing for his balance.

Steve groaned, holding his head in his hands. What a stupid idea. Metal absorbing an impacting force was one thing. Metal against bone and pure stubborn stupidity was another.

Tony tried to shake off the noise, but he had frankly had enough of this bullshit. Quick as he could, Tony reached up and unclasped the helmet. A familiar “click” and it was like breathing for the first time. Tony lifted the helmet off his head and shook the sweat from his brow, finally free from the sound cage.

“Tony?” gasped Steve, looking up through the blood and grim running down his face.

Tony gave a breathless nod. “Well!” Tony asked between shorts gasps of air, stretching his arms wide as if to say ‘look at all this shit I have to deal with’. “Now do you feel like an idiot?” Tony threw his helmet to the ground with a resounding and satisfying clunk.

Steve closed his wide blue eyes and just let his head hang between his legs for a minute. His shocked slack face slowly morphed into a strained, but relieved laugh. “Honestly,” gasped Steve, letting his head roll back, “I don’t know which I want to do more; punch you for being an utter asshole, or kiss you because I’m so damn happy that you’re safe.”

Tony couldn’t help but grin. The frozen weight on his shoulders melted off like water. Thank god everything worked out.

He reached down once more, confident that Steve wasn’t going to pull him down again. (Though in different circumstances, the idea of Steve pulling him down and stripping off his armor in a darkened warehouse was quite tempting.) Instead, he said with an amused smirk, “Come here you asshole.”

With that smile on Steve’s face that just made Tony’s world turn, Steve took his hand and allowed Tony to pull the big, blond, and no longer angry street boss into the tightest hug Iron Man could offer.

“Oh my fucking god. You’re real,” Steve breathed with relief. His fingers found the little openings between armor plates and dug into the cracks, hanging on for dear life.

Tony chuckled. He pulled Steve closer, burying his nose into the sweaty nook of Steve’s neck. “What were you thinking you idiot?” he asked, inhaling Steve’s scent. And dear god, he never thought the day would come where he could find such relief in just smelling a man’s musk.

Steve planted his face into the crook of Iron Man’s shoulder. His ears were the same shade of red as the armor. “Don’t know,” he mumbled. “The mind plays cruel tricks when on the brink of death.” He gave the armor one last reassuring squeeze before pulling back. Just a little. Just enough so his chest wasn’t pressing into the heat of the still warm arc reactor.

“I thought,” Steve started, trying to get a grip on the situation. “I thought that Iron Man had kidnapped you and was going to kill you,” Steve said, rubbing his thumb against Tony’s jaw line. It feels strange to have the gentle touch muted by the short well-kept beard. Not a bad strange. The good kind of strange. The kind of strange that had him cupping a metal clad glove over Steve’s hand as Tony leaned into the touch. “I thought I’d had to come save you before it was too late.”

Tony snorted in amusement, hiding his face in the palm of Steve’s palm. “What? Don’t think I can take care of myself?” he asked. Tony never really saw himself as the ‘damsel in distress’ type. But, maybe he would be okay with it if Steve was his knight in shining armor.

Steve cupped the back of Tony’s head so he could look straight on into Steve’s ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ face. Steve whispered as if he was trying to hold back tears. “Tony, I really thought you were in danger. The thought of losing you forever, I couldn’t stand it.”

A small spark of hope flickered beneath the arc reactor. Maybe there was some hope after all.

“So,” Tony drawled out the word in anticipation. “You forgive me?”

Steve, to his credit, only closed his eyes and let out a tired sigh. “Still royally pissed at all this, but maybe eventually.” Steve plopped his big head in the side of Tony’s neck. “I’m just glad you’re safe,” he mumbled into the mix of warm flesh and metal, lips grazing dangerously against the surface.

“To be fair,” defended Tony, running a gentle hand down Steve’s back. “I have every right to be mad since you’re stealing my stuff.”

An amused chuckle betraying the serious of the situation. “I did ask permission,” muttered Steve.

“And I said no,” chastised Tony, though there was a teasing smile in his voice.

 

As soon as Tony felt relaxed in his banter, everything went to shit. The sound of metal scraping against metal sent shivers down Tony’s spine. The regular rattle of garage panes being rolled up late at night was never a good sign.

In the back of his mind, Tony heard metallic panes of the garage door rolled up with a loud ‘rata tat tat.’ He turned his attention just in time to hear a sharp hiss filled the tense air as gas flooded out and up the garage door. The same garage door right where Tony had left Rhodey and Pepper to fend for themselves.

Panic gripped at Tony’s stomach. His family was by the cloud. He had expertly left a trap and only to left his family to defend themselves in their time of need. Their armor might be able to protect them for a bit, but they wouldn’t be able to see shit through the gas.

With little thought of the consequences, Tony raced over to the billowing gas with Steve following close on his heels.

“Spread out,” he heard a muffled voice call out as hard boots stomped across the cold floor.” I want to see the floors covered in their blood within the next five minutes.”

As quiet as possible, Tony hid in the shadows of some boxes labeled “Pym” as he tried to get a lay of the land.

Three groups of two split off and stalked into maze of the warehouse. They weren’t heavily armed, but they were packing much more heat than any _normal_ a civilian should have. A single, large man stood guard over the exit. He had a spine tingling glint in his eye that Tony had seen in too many men just itchin’ for a fight.

“Did these guys ask for permission too?” whispered Steve, pressing close to Tony.

“Nope,” Tony whispered, trying to put some humor in his voice. “This is new.”

“What is going on out there?” asked a voice, heavy with a natural German accent.

“Shit. It’s Schmidt,” Steve hissed, ducking behind the Iron Man armor.

Tony raised an eyebrow in inquisitive interest. “Friend?” he asked, stretching his neck out a bit to get a better look.

“More like a German pain in my ass,” Steve swore under his breath. “These guys are Hydra; the same guys who gift wrapped me that grenade.”

Oh, so their relationship was like that, was it? If these were the guys taking SI weapons, it would make dishing out revenge all the more sweeter.

This ‘Schmidt’ guy walked into the warehouse, nose tilted up so high with arrogance that Tony could’ve mistaken him for a pig. Oh, yeah. he was going to have too much fun ripping these guys a new one.

Schmidt looked down his nose and eyed the guard’s weapon with absolute contempt. “Rumlow, you still have your guns out. Why?” he asked with a grimace.

The lookout, Rumlow, gave Schmidt an unimpressed shrugged. “Just got a couple a rats try’n ta sneak away with our dinner. Nothing we can’t handle boss.”

Schmidt snorted, but he seemed troubled. “The War Monger said nothing about rats.”

“If you had just waited in the car,” Runlow said, trying to defend himself. “We coulda –“

“Never mind that.” Schmidt brushed aside the suggestion. “We’re on a time crunch. Get your men loading these guns onto the truck. And find someone to help me open these crates,” he said, pointing to an unusually long box. “I ordered a special gift for our dear friend, the Captain, and I want to make sure it works.”

“Oh now you don’t,” Tony growled. He pushed himself up, ready for battle, only to feel the tug back down as Steve’s firm grip held onto his arm.

“And where do you think you’re going?” asked Steve, almost yanking Tony back into the shadows.

“To get my stuff back,” he hissed. “I’m not going to let some manic get away with what’s mine.

Boom!

Tony looked up just in time to see a bright white light fading into the far corner of the warehouse. Shit. That looked like the heat from a repulsor blast. Had Rhodey or Pepper gotten cornered? Had they gotten ambushed?

“What was that?” Schmidt demanded, hand already in his breast pocket.

“Being handled Mr. Schmidt,” Rumlow assured his boss. But even he glanced at the dimming light suspiciously.

“I think there’s more important things going on right now, don’t you think?” insisted Steve, pulling a bit at Tony’s arm. Worried lines were etched deep in his face.

Looking into Steve’s blue eyes, it dawned on Tony that Steve was more worried about his friends than petty revenge. Schmidt had numbers, Steve’s guys didn’t. No sign of gunfire, but that didn’t mean things would stay that way. And while Tony was also worried about his family, he was confident they could take care of themselves. Besides, he had more pressing concerns.

“But Steve,” he whispered, trying to appeal to Steve’s logic. “This is why I’m here. This is why I’m dressed up as Iron Man and not Tony Stark mild- mannered inventor.”

“Nothing about you is mild-mannered.” Steve rolled his eyes, but his voice was light in a way that Tony could only assume-

“Wait, are you flirting with me?”

“Tony, focus.”

“Right.” Time and place. Time and place. “Point is, somebody has been stealing some big, really dangerous items from my company. On record, we’re missing grenades, semi-automatics, military grade stuff.”

Steve’s eyes grew big with realization. “The hit and run.”

“Exactly.” Tony breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, Steve was starting to come around. One last battle to face and maybe one more step to reconciliation. “A few months ago, somebody stole something really big and really bad. Worse than a few grenades. This weapon, it hurt a lot of people and caused a lot of damage. I’m here; dressed up like an idiot to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Steve’s face paled. “Something that that?” he asked, pointing over Tony’s shoulder.

Tony turned around and his stomach dropped. “Nope,” he squeaked. “But that might be just as bad.”

In Schmidt’s hands was a weapon Tony swore he had taken off the production line weeks ago. The prosthetic arm Tony had designed and sent off with Obie as an afterthought was now in Schmidt’s greedy hands; bigger and stronger than any sketch Tony had sent down to R&D. The fingers on the hand had been altered and reinforced with a heavy metal; now made for breaking necks and spilling blood. The sight of shoddy workmanship, exposed gears, pistons, and metal gleaming in cold in the light, sent shivers down his spine. What was this monstrosity?

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful,” Schmidt murmured, practically frothing at the mouth.

Rumlow sauntered over, his eyes wide with interest. “What is it boss?”

“This,” replied Schmidt, stroking the thick fingers of the gauntlet as if it were a treasured lover, “is the hope for Deutschland given physical form. The new right hand of the German people.” He chuckled, gazing at the weapon with longing eyes. “As always, Stark’s work is unparalleled.”

“What is that?” Steve’s face was white as a sheet and his voice came out as a near silent whisper. “Did you make that?”

“If I had any less pride, I would say no,” Tony said with a bitter sense of humor.

Steve’s head whipped around. “Are you shitting me?”

Well that wasn’t the reaction Tony wanted Steve to had when he revealed what he did for work. “I didn’t make all of it,” Tony embarrassedly muttered. “Whoever modified it used my basic design, but it’s a Frankenstein of parts now. I barely recognize it.”

A sigh of relief drained some of the tension out of Steve’s shoulders. But only some. “What does it do?” he asked, squinting as Schmidt shipped a hand into the weapon.

“In my original design, it was supposed to grab things.”

“What does it do now?”

A high pitched whirl developed into a scream as Schmidt drew the arm up to eye level and fired a burning white blast of energy into the warehouse. A resounding _boom_ rippled out from the impact. The building shook and cloud of dust rained down, covering Tony and Steve in a blanket of brown and grey.

“That, apparently,” Tony said, stunned into silence.

“Magnificent.” Schmidt was practically glowing with glee. He closed his gloved fingers around the glowing circle in his hand. “This much power in the palm of my hand, it’s just as our dealer advertised.” He turned to his subordinate, manic smile on his face. “Rumlow, any sign that the infestation has been dealt with?”

A peppering of gunshots crackled through the air.

“No. They seem persistent to say the least.” Rumlow grunted in response when none of his men showed up with blood on their hands.

“Try one of these arms on for size,” offered Schmidt, removing the weapon and offering it out to Rumlow. “I want to see what it can really do.”

Rumlow’s eyes raked over the weapon suspiciously. Squaring his shoulders, he looked up at Schmidt, a small smirk lifting one side of his face. “Sure is a pretty doll you got there boss. You sure you trust me with her?”

Scmnidt, to his small credit, sorted in amusement. “The only thing I trust you with is a mission; everything and everyone in this place, I want you to burn it to the ground.”

“That,” said Rumlow with a toothy smile. “That, I can do.”

And _that_ was more than enough rubbernecking for Tony Stark, thank you very much. “Now can I go after my weapons?”

“Did you not see what he just did?” Steve harshly whispered, his voice bordering on hysterics.

“Yeah, and I’d rather not have a repeat on civilians,” Tony stated matter-of-factly as he charged up his one working repulsor.

Steve gripped Tony’s arm hard enough that he could feel it through the metal suit. “Tony.” Steve’s breath came out slow and heavy. Clearly trying hard to keep his cool Steve whispered, “If you go out there, you’re a walking target. There is no smoke like when they came in. There ‘s no hiding. There is only you getting your ass blasted to smithereens.”

“But you have to admit,” Tony replied with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows, “It’s a very nice ass.”

Steve let out a tired sigh. “It is, and I’d very much hate to see it get blown up.”

Wait, what?

“I see you back there,” sneered Rumlow, swinging the glowing gauntlet in front of his face. “Why don’t you come out and play with ol’ Crossbones?”

Right. Possible death. No time for flirting. “Well I don’t hear any better ideas coming from you, smart guy,” said Tony, feigning annoyance.

Steve looked over Tony’s shoulder and his eyebrow raised a tick. “I’ve got a good one. It’s called, run.” Grabbing Tony by the scruff of his neck, Steve dragged them away from their hiding spot seconds before Tony felt a searing heat race across his back. He turned back for a split second to see their hideout had been vaporized in a blast of white.

Tony’s mind quickly filled with numbers and facts as Steve dragged him through the maze of metal aisles and away from the crazy man with the glowing hand. He carefully counted the seconds and analyzed the way the light dimmed leaving a small inch of red embers in its wake. He noticed how the machinery reacted when Steve threw any small inconvenience at the weapon. Pistons squealed in protest as their pursuer shot blast after blast at the heels of their feet.

“Over down here.” Steve clumsily pulled Tony down a sharp turn and forced him down into a crouch. “Hopefully all that should buy us a little time.”

Tony gave a distracted nod. His thoughts were elsewhere. “Revolution per second are slower than Iron Man’s,” he rambled off as Steve turned around to see how close they were being followed. “Each rotation is taking .023 seconds longer than I calculated for. Someone idiot must have messed with the casing to make it slower. Or the metal, A decrease in fan speed would definitely do it too. Although, if they used aluminum instead of tin-”

“Care to explain what that mean in Standard English?” Steve did not seem impressed at Tony’s ramblings.

“It means I have a chance a better chance of taking down that idiot than I thought,” Tony muttered with quiet determination as he attempted to fix the broken gauntlet. Tugging at a few wires for a little slack, his mouth began to run with ideas. “If I can successfully bypass the damage that your friend did, I can get off about 1.73 shots for every one of his. Give or take two or three points for human error. Gives me a couple extra seconds to duck out of danger if I can’t disable the arm in one hit. But, given the blast radius-”

A large warm hand pressed over Tony’s mouth silencing him. Tony tried to cry out in protest, but stopped when he saw the terror in Steve’s eyes. “You’re still going after him?” Steve harshly whispered as Rumlow crept past their hideout. “You saw what that thing could do. You’ll be vaporized in an instant.”

“I don’t have a choice,” Tony whispered furiously as he pushed aside Steve’s hand. “It’s my name on the line, my design, my fault. I’m not going to sit here and watch while some lunatic burns down Manhattan.”

Steve grimaced. “There’s got to be another way.”

“There is no other way Steve. You saw what that weapon could do. Either I take ‘em down now, or we duck into the nearest safe house until all this blows over.” Tony said, shoving the wires back into the glove with a frustrated grunt. The gauntlet was too damaged to fix. Tony couldn’t make lemonade out of lemons after all. He didn’t have the tools to fix it on such short notice, so he would have to make do with just one. Odds in his favor were getting smaller, but at least he had a blunt object to hit people with.

“What if I help you?”

Tony’s attention was immediately piqued. “Now see, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you I was Iron Man in the first place,” Tony said with a salty lit to his voice. “Being a mob boss is a dangerous line of work, and I refuse to drag you into this mess.”

“Who said I was giving you a choice?” Steve asked, a mischievous smile curling up the side of his face. Without warming, Steve ran out from their hiding spot, waving his hands and screaming like a maniac.

“Hey kraut!” he yelled at Rumlow. The man slowly turned around, murderous glee written all over his face.

Tony began to panic. Charging up his one working glove, Tony dashed round the aisles behind Rumlow.

Steve smiled on, unfazed by Rumlow’s toothy grin. Instead of running like a smart person, he fanned the flames by yelling, “Getting outsmarted by a paddy and a spic, Hitler must really be getting desperate.”

Rumlow’s face flushed beat red with anger. He raised his gloved hand, charging up the energy for a point blank blast. “Why you little-”

Tony sprinted around the corner. Before Rumlow could release the energy, Tony shot that bastard in the back with just enough force to send the large man crumpling to his knees with a loud thump.

Tony stared at Rumlow in stunned silence as smoke hissed of the man’s back and slithered up into the rafters. “What the hell was that about Steve?” Tony asked between shallow gasps. “You could have been killed.”

“No I wouldn’t,” said Steve with the smuggest grin in existence. “Knew you would have my back.”

Tony frowned. “Lucky shot,” he mumbled, leaning over to check the body. Still alive, but he’d be out for a good few minutes.

“No such thing.”

“One lucky shot!” yelled Tony. “It took one lucky shot to knock him down and that’s exactly all it will take for you to wind up dead. I refuse to take that risk.”

“Too bad,” Steve calmly replied. “I’m taking that risk and nothing you say is going to stop me.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

“Tony,” he said, voice strained and clearly tired of the whole shit storm. “We both agree that letting them get away with this is a bad idea. So let me help you.”

“No.” Tony’s curt reply came out more abrasive than he would have liked. “This isn’t your fight Steve.”

“Yes it is,” Steve stupidly insisted. “They tried to kill me. They attacked you. Maybe I don’t have the same beef with them over the weapons, but goddamnit, don’t tell me to fuck off now. This is my fight just as much as yours.”

“And what happens if you die Steve?” Tony yelled, forcing his way into Steve’s face. “What happens if you get caught in the crossfire? What then? That’s another death that I caused, more innocent blood on my hands, and I don’t want that to happen to you!”

“I promise you, it won’t.”

And that stupid determination was what broke him.

“You weren’t there!” Tony screamed as bloody memories flashed in his mind. “You weren’t there when they burned those innocent kids to get to me. You’re weren’t there to choke on the smell of smoke and blood as their screams of pain became my nightmares. You weren’t there to dig out the mangled bodies of kids that had their whole fucking life in front of them, and hand over the remains to their parents as they cried on their porch step.”

Angry heat burned his cheeks as his eyes welled up with tears. Furry and sorrow clawed at his chest as he tried desperately to hold back the waterfall of emotions. “You weren’t there,” his voice cracked. “You weren’t there to hear those bastards drive off , and how stupidly happy those fuckers were when they thought I died, not giving a damn about who they had to shoot through to get to me.”

Unceremoniously, Tony stomped back over to Rumlow and ripped off the arm, throwing it as far as he could in the opposite direction. It landed with a less than satisfying clatter less than a few feet from them. “I’m not losing anyone else because of my stupidity,” Tony muttered, trying to reign in his emotions. “Not now. Never again. I’ve seen too many good people die because of me, and I’ll be damned if I add your name to the list.”

Grabbing a nearby hanging rope, he knelt down by the prone body and began tying Rumlow’s hands behind his back.

“Kids?” asked Steve.

Tony nodded solemnly. “They were new members of the family. Looking for a way out, looking for protection. That’s all they were, kids just trying to make ends meet.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you I was Iron Man,” he admitted, pulling the rope tight, not caring if the harsh abrasions gave the man a wicked rope burn. “Everyone who’s affiliated with me ends up getting hurt in some way. I just- I just didn’t want you to be another causality.”

“You should have told me,” Steve said softly.

Tony tried not to let out a bitter laugh. “Oh don’t be a hypocrite. You know that you’re no better. Lying by omission is still lying, Mr. Captain.”

“You’re right,” Steve admitted. “I did lie to you. But I lied for a good reason; to protect the ones I care most about. And I can’t help but think you did the same.”

“Yeah, and look at all the good that did us,” Tony said with a snort, as he shoved his emotional baggage back down. He could always work through the trauma another day. “We can talk about reasons later. Right now, I want my weapons back and I want you to hit the track and get out of harm’s way.”

“Okay,” Steve conceded with quiet reservation. “Pass me his gun.”

“Why?” asked Tony, already pulling out Rumlow’s firearm and placing the muzzle into Steve’s hand.

“Because if he wakes up, we don’t want him to be armed and I sure as hell ain’t going into a gun fight without a weapon,” Steve said, pulling back the safety with a satisfying “click”

Tony groaned and hung his head frustration. Of all times to be a stubborn ass, now was not the time. “Steve-”

“No, you listen for once,” Steve interrupted with a stern voice. “I’m gonna get outta harm’s way like you want, but I’m going to do it my way. Before I get gone, I’m gonna pump these bastards so full of lead that they sink like rocks in the river. And if I just so happen to be following you, well, so be it.”

Tony tilted his head up a bit, just enough to see Steve’s stupid mug out the corner of his eye. Determination shone like stars in Steve’s beautiful baby blue eyes. Tony let out an exasperated chuckle. “I’m not talking you out of this, am I?” he asked, running a gloved hand through his battle mussed hair.

“Nope,” said Steve with a smug smile as he popped the last syllable.

“You are stupidly stubborn Rogers.”

“Join the club,” Steve joked with an amused grin. “Buck’s the president.”

“Ah hem,” a familiar voice crackled over Tony’s radio. “As much as I enjoy listening to you two bicker, kiss, and make up, we have bigger problems on our hands.”

Tony’s face flushed red. “Hawkeye?” he embarrassedly squawked into his radio.

“Plus a bunch of others,” quipped another gargled voice. “And just so you know, as President of the ‘Steve Rogers is a Stubborn Asshole’ club, resumes must be submitted with a twenty five dollar processing payment.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turned pink in embarrassment. “Bucky!”

“And for the record, I still haven’t forgiven you for breaking Steve’s heart Stark.”

“Bucky!”

“Oh dear god,” Tony groaned, hiding his head in the palm of his hand. “How much did you hear?”

“I think the better question would be what didn’t we hear.” The amused lit in Pepper’s voice translated over the radio clear as day.

“Whatever we didn’t hear while we were busy taking down these Hydra idiots,” gasped (what was his name again? Stan? Sand? Oh right, Sam.) Sam, sounding a little worse for wear.

“Granted, that wasn’t much,” Pepper agreed with an audible eye roll. “But now we know that the ‘call’ button gets stuck on occasion, so that’s a plus.”

A deep laughter erupted from the radio. “These mortal men are no match for the mighty Thor! They are unskilled in combat and fall like puny flies. I could take them down with my eyes closed.”

“Looking at the mess on their faces, I’m inclined to think you did,” Rhodey said, horror and awe coloring in his reserved voice.

“Can we focus here?” Tony snapped at the voice on the other lines. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to rub his temples in frustration.

“Sure boss,” chirped Clint. “What ‘cha need?”

“I need the Iron Family front and center as a distraction for Hydra’s heavy hitters,” ordered Steve, pushing his face into the receiver. “Tony said his armor could take a hit, so I’m assuming the same can be said for you guys since you’re all ‘family.’”

“Big assumption there, _Captain_ ,” grumbled Rhodey, disdain in his voice.

“But I’m not wrong, am I?”

“… no. But-”

“Then I’m trusting you with this,” Steve pleaded in a voice that made it sound more like a command. “I’ve seen how Tony moves. You can’t move fast enough to get your stuff back on your own, but you can do a lot of damage. Hit them where it hurts. Hit them fast, and my guys can be your hands and feet to get whatever they got of yours off their hands.”

“Uh, I didn’t sign up for this Cap,” Bucky said hesitantly.

“Shut up,” snapped Steve. “We’re bringing down Hydra here and now, captain’s orders. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” The three voices agreed in unison.

“Good!”

And didn’t that commanding voice make Tony’s cock want to stand at rapt attention like a good little soldier boy.

“Brooklyn Boys; our mission is to get in those vehicles and get out any of those weapons they got stashed away. Swing around the sides, get what you can, and get out fast. The Iron Family is on crowd control, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be stragglers.”

“Get in, get out, be on alert, and kick some ass if necessary. Got it Cap.”

“Any questions?”

Silence fell over the conversation. No response from the Iron Family. Finally, Clint coughed in hesitation, breaking through the white noise. “Uh… You know I was talking to Iron Man, right?”

“Hey, the man laid out a plan. I’m not going to argue with a good plan,” Sam said defensively.

“It is a sound course of action,” agreed Thor. “It would be unwise to waste it.”

“But that’s not how we do things,” Clint whined.

He did have a point. Tony would never have come up with a plan like that. His strategy would have been more of a “boom” “bang” “in your face” kind of thing. After listening to Steve’s orders, Tony could hear how uncomfortable his own family was through the silence over the radio.

But eventually, they conceded. “Fine,” groaned Rhodey. “I’ll do it. But only if you can get Iron Man to agree.”

“Second,” Pepper concurred.

Steve turned to Tony; large, blue, expectant eyes looking for approval. “Well, Tony?”

Tony frowned. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like his role as a walking-talking target. He didn’t like how this plan put Steve at risk. And he especially didn’t like how easily Steve had slid into the role of a criminal mastermind. But, as much as it pained him, it was a good strategy and they were running out of time to get shit done.

With a tired sigh, Tony caved. “We are talking about this later, right? This whole misunderstanding thing going on between us,” Tony said, motioning between their chests only inches apart.

Steve’s face lit up. Stupid, adorable smile plastered on his face, he leaned in close enough for his lips to graze the shell of Tony’s ear. “In private and in great detail if you like,” he murmured seductively.

A sudden jump came from his pants as Tony’s cock eagerly agreed.

“Oh my god, get a room you two!” groaned Clint

Tony couldn’t help but laugh at Clint’s disgust. “You’re just jealous of all the angry sex I’m going to get when this is all over. It’s going to be so fucking fantastic that I won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Tony!” Steve pushed a hand against Tony’s mouth, blushing brighter and harder than Tony had ever seen before.

Rhodey groaned. “I did _not_ need to know that about my best friend.”

A loud roar shook Tony’s bones. “WHERE IS HE!” bellowed an angry Rumlow.

“Iron Family, Brooklyn Boys: battle stations!” rallied Steve. “You know what to do.”

“Right!”

“Steve, wait,” Tony reached into a small compartment in his armor and pulled out a small earpiece. “You should be able to talk to us through this. It’s a remote radio I’ve been working on. Fun size. Still having some problems transmitting and receiving, but it should be good in a pinch.” With gentle fingers, Tony placed the device in Steve’s palm and folded the large fingers around the temperamental tech. “Try not to get yourself killed, okay?”

The side of Steve’s lips hooked up into a shy smile. He placed a warm hand on Tony’s glove and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “Promise.”

“We can still hear you, you fucking idiots,” grumbled Bucky.

Steve chuckled and fixed the receiver in his ear. “Brooklyn Boys, with me!”

And there he went, off to war, taking Tony’s breath with him.

“Iron Man,” a voice called to him over the radio. “What are your orders?”

Tony shook his head. Right. Now was not time to pine like some moll. Now was the time to take charge while the blood still ran hot.

“War Machine and Rescue, I need you up front and center,” commanded Tony. “Lost my helmet, so I need you two to pick up the slack.”

“Got it boss.”

“Hawkeye, hold your position. Keep an eye out for stragglers. I don’t want anything larger than a nut leaving this area.”

“Understood.”

A loud crack of gunfire ripped through the air. Tony redid his working gauntlet. “Time to show those Nazi bastards how it’s done.”

Fast as he could, Tony made his way back to the garage door. Finding adequate cover, he ducked down just in time to hear the screams of repulsor blasts. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony could see Rescue and War Machine doing the good work and punching those cards.

The covering fools slowed their attack. Frequent “pings” of bullets were now one every few seconds. Perfect.

Taking his chance, Tony leapt out from his hiding place and started firing at the faceless goons cowering behind wooden crates. They put up a good fight, but small handguns were no match compared to the Iron Family’s custom made weapons. A lot of his shots missed, but they were close enough that it seemed to be scaring the living shit out of them. Even with one repulsor, he had them cowering for cover.

“Get ‘em out quick.” A muted voice crackled over the radio. Behind the firing squad, familiar forms scurried in and out of the cars.

Tony grinned in delight. Steve’s plan was working. They we’re getting the stolen weapons out of Hydra hands. Who would’a thunk Steve could pull it off.

But like all things, their lucky streak had to come to an end.

“You fools!” screamed Schmidt over the deadly din. “It’s a diversion.”

Panic set in Tony’s stomach. “Iron Family, move in now!”

A purple arrow flew through the air and released a large cloud of thick, grey smoke. The Hydra member erupted into a coughing fit as they breathed the choking air.

Right on cue, War Machine and Rescue ominously walked through the thick obstruction like it was nothing. Slowly, step by step, they encroached on enemy territory. Shot after shot, a member of Hydra fell to one of their blasts. But it wasn’t enough. Schmidt had enough man power that a small gaggle of street shit was able to take the Brooklyn Boys by surprise.

Not thinking about the consequences, Tony ran out from under his cover. He had to get to Steve. Steve seemed to be holding them off for now, strong fists mercilessly battering them back, but he didn’t know how much longer Steve could last. Three or four Hydra boys for every one of Steve’s, the odds weren’t looking good.

Tony forced his legs to run as fast as possible through the heavy weight of the suit. But a punch in the kisser from stupid, fucking Rumlow sent his spiraling off course.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little piece of Spic shit?” spat Rumlow as he shook off the remains of his bindings.

Shit. He didn’t have time for this. “None of your business, kraut,” Tony growled, wiping the wet spit off his chin.

Rumlow blistered at the jab. “I’d beat you to death, but I think that’d be too good for a fag like you.”

A sharp chill ran down Tony’s spine. “You heard?”

Rumlow gave Tony a wide, toothy smile. “Every single word,” he said, punctuating each syllable. “Well, every word that was important. Kept going in and out of consciousness. Do you know how hard it is to try and play possum while a couple of cake-eaters fuck their brains out in front of you?”

Tony glowered.

Rumlow chuckled as he cracked his fingers. “Well, no matter. I know your name and I know your face. It’ll only be a matter of time before I ruin you both. Maybe I’ll start with Rogers and work my way up. Hear the fuehrer is always looking for people to experiment on. Aryan or not, bet he’s got some good screams in him. He’ll make a fine test subject.”

Tony’s vision bled red. That bastard. There was no way in hell he would let this man’s grubby, Nazi fingers harm a single hair on Steve’s head.

“Rumlow, we’re leaving!”

Rumlow took his eyes off Tony and looked beyond Tony’s shoulder.

An opening! Tony rushed the short distance to Rumlow and slammed the broken left gauntlet against the side of Rumlow’s head. The impact made a harsh cracking sound and rattled Tony down to his bones.

Rumlow stood in shock for a second; and fell like a sack of brick, screaming as he clawed at his injured skull. His dark brown hair turned black and wet. Flush, red blood flowed down the side of his face and puddled on the floor. Concussion and possibly fractured skull.

That would keep him down for a bit.

Tony spat at the man, relishing his anguish. “I’ll take care of you later, you piece of shit.”

Directing his attention back to the fight, Tony noticed that Hawkeye’s smoke was slowly clearing. In the back of his mind, he noted that Schmidt and his crew were piling into a getaway car like a clown trope. But that didn’t concern him at the moment. What concerned him was Steve’s wellbeing.

Was Steve okay? Did Hydra gang up and beat the living crap out of him? Did they break any bones? How many times would Iron Man have to kill them before Steve’s broken pride was avenged?

To his relief, Steve was one of the first things he could make out as he quickly scanned the area. His beautiful hair was rumpled, there was blood splattered across his cheek, and his face was a mask of pure rage. But other than that, Steve looked fine.

Actually, Steve looked more than fine in Tony’s book. He looked absolutely _fine_. Seeing Steve like that; knuckles covered in blood, teeth bared, veins popped and tinted blue, it made Tony’s heart skip a beat every time Steve landed a hit. Never in his wildest dreams would Tony have though to describe a man kicking the living shit out of another man to be arousing.

“They’re getting away boss.” Clint’s voice snapped Tony out of his lusty haze.

Steve must have heard because he turned around and glared at the car as it squealed to life and shot off into the dark. “I’m going after him.”

“What about the guns?”

“I got eyes on the package,” reported Pepper. “We might be missing a few handhelds, but most of its still here.”

Most was better than none. And at the pace Schmidt’s crew was driving, there was no way the Iron Family could catch them. “Steve, let him go. We got what we came for.”

“No!” The transmission was more static than human voice. “I can’t let him go now. Not after everything he’s done.”

Damn his stubbornness. “Steve!”

“Don’t worry. Bucky’s with me.”

“Steve!” Tony screamed into the radio. No response. “You fucking idiot, your com’s not working.” He banged the receiver a few times praying it was just a loose wire in his system, but the prototype refused to connect.

“Shit,” he cursed, “I’m going after him.”

“Not on my watch you faggy bitch!” Rumlow’s hand shot out from his prone form. With a sharp tug, Rumlow pulled Tony’s leg out from under him. Tony yelped and fell down like a tree.

Metal scraped against concrete as Tony tried to right himself. But it was no use. Rumlow’s bruising grip held Tony in place. As much as he tried, Tony couldn’t kick himself free. He was stuck. “War Machine!”

“On it boss,” War Machine said, already tailing Steve as fast as the heavy armor allowed. ~~~~

“You know what, never mind leaving you alive,” growled Rumlow as he straddled Tony’s hips. He pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the soft flesh of Tony’s temple. “Killing you now will be much more fun.”

He flicked the safety off with a spine shuddering ‘click’ and dug the barrel deeper into Tony’s skin. Licking his lips, Rumlow’s eyes drifted down from the top of Tony’s head to the glowing device in his heart. “This looks important. Wonder what happens when I pull it out.”

“No!” gasped Tony.

Joyful madness gripped Rumlow’s eyes. Encouraged by Tony’s reaction, he thrust his hand into the cavity and dug his fingers into the warm metal.

Tony reached out a hand to stop him, but Rumlow was ready for it. A heavy boot knocked Tony’s arm down and back down onto the floor. The thick heel dug into the small exposed flesh not covered by the armor.

“Nat! Do something!”

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” Rumlow said with a murderous chuckle.

_Bang!_

Rumlow’s hand jerked back from the arc reactor as if it had been bitten by a snake. His body tensed up. His hand remained hovering in midair. Tony watched in stunned shock as the life drained from Runlow’s eyes. Slowly, he tipped over to the side and fell off Tony in a cloud of dust. The flesh around a black hole in Rumlow’s temple pulsed red with what little was left of Rumlow’s life force.

Soon as the weight was off his hips, Tony scampered away from the body. “Jesus Barton,” he gasped, placing a hand proactively in front of the arc reactor. “Cutting it a little close.”

“Never mind that,” dismissed Clint. “You gotta pull everyone back now.”

“Why?”

“They’re preparing Jericho.”

“What?” A cold panic settled in his chest. Tony scrambled to get up. "How the fuck did they find one? I thought had every last one dismantled after we stormed the Ten Rings’ base.”

“I don’t know, but it’s in the back of Schmidt’s car. I swear,” Clint voice crackled over the radio. “They’re gonna let it go any second now.”

Shit.

“Steve!” he yelled over the radio. “Get the hell out of there.”

“Almost got them.”

Tony cursed. Steve was either being stubborn or his com was still broken. Tony prayed it was the former. “Forget it Steve. You need to get out of there, now! You don’t know what that thing will do.”

“Almost got ‘em.”

“Steve!”

Boom!

“STEVE!”

A wave of heat and wind crashed over him. The force of the explosion knocked him off his feet and sent him tumbling once more into the ground. Debris riddled air howled in his ears with the strength of a tornado. Tiny shards of shrapnel bounced off his armor with an earsplitting _ping_. And just as suddenly as it started, it all stopped.

The late night air became deathly silent. The occasional _pop_ of a car speeding off faded into the distance. Grey and brown dust floated around, suspended in the tense atmosphere.

Gasping for breath, Tony swiped through the cloud of dust. He screamed at the top of his lungs, “Steve? Steve, where are you?” But nobody answered. Slowly but surely, Tony walked in the direction he had last seen the car. He groped blindly for anything fleshy or familiar, silently begging for the results not to be as disastrous as last time.

After what felt like ages, the dust began to settle. At the distant edge of the cloud, a shadowy figure rose up from the wreckage. It held its head in pain. “Ugh,” a voice crackled over the radio. “Buck?”

A bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was filled with panicked desperation. The figure in the distance darted over to an unmoving body lying by a large cluster of fractured cement. “Hang on Bucky. Everything is going to be okay.”

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Tony’s subconscious supplied. He knew firsthand the damage that Jericho could do. And that one was contained in a brick building. Setting it off in a wide open area like this, well, the difference in damage was clear as day.

Despite bad visibility, Tony could see that the blast radio was huge. Solid concrete had been upturned from its flat state and was now jutting out of the ground into a silhouette that rich people might say was “modern art.” Large chunks of shrapnel were strewn about the radius in a deathly ripple pattern. And while most of the smaller pieces had bounced off the armor, some larger pieces had embedded themselves into deep into the metal suit.

This was exactly the type of thing he was trying to prevent by confiscating and dismantling every last Jericho missile in existence, and he had failed. He had failed, on the most basic level, to keep people safe, and this was the consequence.

 

A far away _pop_ of an engine shook Tony from his quiet rage.

Now wasn’t the time to be angry at his short fallings. Now was the time for revenge. He only had a few seconds to act before things were irreversibly damaged, and he planned to make use of every single bloody second of it.

“Hawkeye,” he barked into the radio. “You saw their vehicle. Tail them.”

“Yes boss,” confirmed Clint. Without a second to loose, a black shadow dashed out of the warehouse and after the car.

“Rescue, call in the Hulk. We got injured.” He stalked forward to the impact site, releasing unnecessary bits of the Iron Man armor and letting it fall where it may.

As he surged forward, Tony heard a pained groan from the ground. He debated ignoring it as he released a shoulder piece onto a blackened pile of rubble, but curiosity won out in the end. Tony cautiously walked over to the rubble. Looking down at the source, he felt a coldness descend over his heart.

An unfamiliar man lay in the rubble; dusty, bloody, and limbs twisted in unnatural ways. The remains of the Frankenstein weapon were wrapped around his arm and strewn about the impact. Somehow, in all the confusion, Hydra had forgotten one of their own and left him to rot.

Tony kicked the man in the side to test if he was alive. Nothing. A little more brave, and a lot more angry, he stabbed the heel of his foot into a dark red tinted wound. The inhuman cry as the goon cried out, his eyes rolling up into his head, was beyond satisfying. Absolutely worth the green Tony would have to fork over to get rid of the blood off his shoes.

“Make sure Freak brings some rope or those handcuffs with him too,” he absentmindedly said into the radio. “It looks like we’ll be having some unexpected company over for dinner.”

“Understood, sir.”

 

Not but a few yards away from Iron Man’s new toy, a groan came from a human shaped, grey pile of metal.

Without a moment of hesitation, Tony rushed over to the face down War Machine. “Hey,” said Tony, giving the helmet a light tap. “How you doing?”

He heard a disgruntled grunt from inside and felt the anxiety fall off his shoulders. With knowing fingers, he reached behind the helmet and popped off the grey mask.

Rhodey’s smiling face was relief to see. But there was a sickening twist to the grin that told Tony that not all was right in the world.

“Not good,” Rhodey groaned. With a heavy grunt and Tony’s help, Rhodey pushed himself on his back so the flickering reactor in his chest blinked up at the sky. Looking down at the damage, Tony tried not to panic. Pieces of shrapnel lined both of his legs making his lower body look like a short, grey cactus. The shine of fresh blood eerily matched the sheen of sweat covering Rhodey’s face.

“Everything hurts,” Rhodey moaned with a strained smile. “And I can’t seem to move my legs.”

Tony nodded, trying not to think about the splattering of blood on Rhodey’s legs as they slowly grew with each passing second. “Don’t worry,” reassured Tony with a forced smile. “We’ll get Bruce right on it. You’ll be as good as new in no time. You’ll see.”

Rhodey hacked out a cough through a drained laugh. “Hold you to it Tones,” he said, voice slurred with exhaustion.

Right on cue, Happy pulled up the van around and to a screeching halt. The doors flew open, as Bruce jumped out, medical bag at the ready. Seeing the damage to Rhodey’s legs, his mouth dropped open. “The fuck happened here?”

“Explain later. Just help me get this shit off him so we can get him in the car,” grumbled Tony, fingers fast at work to remove as much of Rhodey’s armor as he could. Never mind how much it cost to make the armor. It did its job. It protected Rhodey’s heart, and now Tony needed to get it off.

“Freak, need you to make sure our guests are ‘comfortable’.” He motioned to the injured idiot with a quick jerk of his head.

Happy was already out of the vehicle, rope in hand and ready to go. “On it boss. Rescue is coming around with Hawkeye’s car any minute now. We’ll stash him in the back until we get back to the base.”

 

“Hold on Bucky.” A wrecked voice weakly echoed over the empty “help will be here soon.”

Shit. Tony had forgotten about Steve.

He shot a panicked look over to Bruce. Without needing to say a word to explain, Bruce nodded in agreement. “I’ll take care of Rhodey. Go find Steve.”

Tony mouthed a quick “thank you” before taking off toward Steve’s voice.

“Steve?” He called to the motionless figure.

Steve didn’t answer.

Anxiety began eat at his nerves. Did he take too long to get here? Did his duties as Iron Man finally destroy one of the few good things in his life? God he hoped not.

Tony picked up the pace, sprinting as fast as he could to the shadowed figures.

The cloud of dust finally thinned out enough for Tony to see Steve cradling the unconscious brunet in his arms.

Both Steve and Bucky were wounded from the blast, but it looked Bucky had it the words. Smoke, dust, gunpowder, and heat burns caked most of his body. Enough that the government might consider assigning him as another color if asked. The red burns pulsed with rage, and the black burns smoked grey from the leftover heat. Bucky’s mouth hung open, panting in short breaths. Clear beads of sweat rolled down his face leaving clean streaks of skin in their wake.

But by far, his arm looked the worst. Bucky’s right arm hung at an unnatural angle and was drenched in a sleeve of blood. Ribbons of Steve’s white shirt were loosely wrapped round the appendage in an attempt to stop the bleeding. A failed attempt. The once clean, white shirt had been deeply stained in living blood. But Steve didn’t look like he cared.

“Tony,” Steve whimpered. “I don’t know what to do. The bleeding, it won’t stop.”

“It’s okay Steve.” Tony tried to reassure Steve. He kneeled down, his hand hovering over the damaged flesh, wondering what in the holly hell he was going to do. “I’ll take care of him. I promise.”

Firs thing first; he had to make a call.

“Freak,” Tony’s voice was on the verge of shaking into a million pieces. “Need a pick up, now.”

“On it boss.”

 

Two sets of footsteps thundered up behind him, and then skidded to a halt. “Holy shit,” Sam loudly swore in shock. “What happened?”

“A bomb, that’s what,” Tony summarized, not interested in explaining the details. “Help me get your friend out of here so we can get him some medical attention.”

Happy pulled the van around with Bruce perched in the back. Bruce took one look at Bucky and his eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Tony, I can’t-”

“Not now Banner,” Tony snapped. He didn’t have time to deal with ‘I can’t’. The only thing he wanted to hear out of anyone’s mouth at this point was ‘yes, boss.’

“What are you doing? Help me get ‘em in,” he snapped at Steve’s crew. They were just standing around watching as he and Happy did all the hard work. Wasn’t this their friend that was injured? Did _family_ mean nothing to them?

“And pray tell what you think you are doing?” asked Thor, exuding calm despite the urgency of the situation. “We are not men under your name. Why should we take orders from you?” he asked, tightening the grip on his bloodied hammer.

Tony lost his shit. “Because I’m the guy who’s going to save your friend!” he yelled at the two dunderheads. “That right there was a Jericho missile. Only one person has ever survived a hit from that and you’re looking at him, right now. Everyone else; dead on the spot or gone by the end of the week. This man helped keep me alive. You want Barnes to live; you trust me and you do what I say.”

Thor and Sam looked at one another, a silent debate passing between them. “Our alliance lies with the Captain,” summarized Thor. “You have our trust until he says otherwise. But be warned, I will not hesitate to dismember you if you betray us.”

“There won’t be anything to discuss unless we get this guy on a table stat!” Tony lashed out in rage. “Get your ass in gear and let’s get going!”

And just like that, they did. Thor hopped down to Steve and gently took the unconscious Barnes from Steve’s weak grip. He moved Barnes’ arm close to his chest, trying not to jostle the limb, and then lifted him up to the gurney Sam and Bruce had waiting.

“Tony,” Bruce interrupted Tony’s thoughts with a meek objection. “I really think I should mention-”

“Can it Banner,” snapped Tony. “Just get him in the van and start working your magic.”

“You heard the man,” said Sam. “Let’s get moving.”

“Come on Steve,” Tony said, gently ushering Steve toward the car.

“Will he be okay?” Steve asked. His voice sounded weak. No wonder considering as his mind and body were still in shock.

“Promise you he will,” assured Tony. “When Bruce is done with him, he’ll be right as rain.”

“Bucky,” Steve murmured as Thor escorted him into the back of the van so he could sit with Bucky. “He’s in so much pain…”

Pepper pulled alongside in Clint’s crappy Ford. “You two in the car with me,” she said, looking at Sam and Thor. “Boss is in the van. Not enough room for all of you, so we’ll meet up back at the base.”

Thor nodded and once Bucky was securely in place, made his way over to the car.

Sam held back.

“This is all your fault, you know that right?” Sam whispered, giving Tony an accusing glare.

“What makes you think I don’t?” asked Tony. He had gotten used to this song and dance over the past few months. “I designed the stupid thing. Might as well say that everything with my company’s name tagged on the side is my fault.”

“I’m not talking about just the bomb,” Sam said, giving him an exasperated eye roll. “I’m talking about everything else. Your deception, your secrets, if you had just helped Steve straight out or told him who you were, none of this would have happened.”

“Well, I guess we can’t _all_ be wise old black men, now can we?” sassed Tony.

Sam glared at him. “I’m going to give you a pass since you didn’t call me a nigger, and I know you easily could’ve. But I’m holding it to you to make it up to him.” And with that, he climbed into the front of the car with Pepper.

Silently, Tony watched them drive off. When the car was a few klicks away, he got into the back of the van with Steve. Happy closed the doors on them with a somber nod, banged on the back door, and off they went.

Tony scooted over to Steve’s side as the engine sprang to life. “Don’t worry Steve. Everything will be okay. I promise,” assured Tony, giving a gentle squeeze to Steve’s shoulder. Steve didn’t seem to notice. He just somberly watched each shallow breath that Bucky Barnes took as they rolled down the road.

“Bucky,” he murmured as if the name was part of a holy prayer. “Come on Buck, please be okay.”

Bruce looked up from where he was working on patching up Rhodey with what little medical supplies they had on hand. Catching Tony’s eye, Bruce looked down at Barnes and shook his head in uncertainty.

Tony frowned in disappointment. Bruce shrugged, but Tony refused to acknowledge Bruce’s doubt. He looked away, deciding to focus on comforting the still shocked Steve.

Bruce could fix Bucky. He had to. Tony had faith that Bruce could do it, and he would. After all, the man had brought Tony back from the brink of death with a shoddy car battery. What was an arm compared to a heart? Nothing. Absolute child’s play.

But what if Bruce couldn’t fix it? What if Tony had finally done enough damage that things couldn’t be fixed. Maybe it was too late. Maybe the damage done tonight as well as the damage from nights before had finally tipped the scale so out of his favor. Maybe he had passed the point of no return. All those hours, all that hard work trying to taking responsibility for his actions only for it to blow up in his face; Tony couldn’t stand the thought.

Tony shook his head. He couldn’t let doubt could his vision. He was Iron Man. He shouldn’t be intimidated by a bunch of thugs just because they go their hands on some big guns. He had bigger, better guns than they would ever have, and he’d use them to take those scum loving bastards out one by one so they suffered a long, painful death.

Tony thought about the Hydra filth bleeding out in the back of Clint’s car. He thought about how sweet it would be to hear the man’s tortured screams in a few short hours. He thought about the man, begging for his life when face with Iron Man’s ‘special’ interrogation. Tony wouldn’t do give it, but he’d relish in the man’s pain until he breathed his last breath.

“I swear,” Tony whispered into Steve’s ear as he ran a comforting hand across Steve’s back. “I will make them pay for what they have done. I will make their blood dye the streets red. I’ll make their screams become the sound of nightmares children fear. You have my word, Steve. I will make all those who oppose you learn to fear the name Iron Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in over half a year. Things got really crazy over the last few months. First off, I wrote a fic for the cCap-Iron Man Revers Big Bang [[Just one...]](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7199750/chapters/16338671) which was so much fun to do. Second, I'm attempting to change careers, so that's hell in a basket to tackle. Third, and no so much fun, my grandmother passed away in May. I'm still in the process of grieving, so until further notice, I'll be working on [A Tree in Rockefeller Center](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5481758) to help with the grieving process.
> 
> I know this is heavy, real life stuff, but I feel like you guys should know. I want to finish this fic, but I need to acknowledge that if I haven't updated it in a year, I most likely won't finish it any time soon. I'll definitely try, but I feel I should keep you guys in the loop. Hope you've enjoyed the chapter and thanks for sticking with me for so long.


	14. Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You wanna talk? Let's talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta. Just me. Let me know if there's any spelling/ grammar that doesn't make any sense. Flying solo here since my beta went back to uni!

The ride over to Tony’s speakeasy was a blur of noises and lights. All Steve could focus on was Bucky and how much pain he was in. Sweat rolled down his brow. Blood drained from his cheeks until his face was as white winter snow. Steve had sacrificed his suspender to make a tourniquet in an attempt to stop the blood, but it didn’t do much good. The bleeding slowed down, but it never stopped. With each bump in the road, another drop of blood fell to the metal floor; another drop of blood that Bucky needed to survive.

When the truck finally stopped, Steve barely noticed the gentle rock of the breaks or the dying whirl as the engine switched off. The doors flew open revealing two gurneys on rickety wheels. With Sam and Thor’s help, War Machine was loaded onto one cot and Bucky was placed on the other.

Dr. Banner led them through the loading docks and down to a well-lit basement. He opened a heavy looking door and ushered the two gurneys in.

Steve tried to follow the doctor into the dimly lit room, but Dr. Banner raised a hand and pushed him away.

“Stay out here,” said the doctor.

“Why? I can help,” Steve said, trying to push his way around the doctor’s body.

“With what?” demanded Dr. Banner. “Can you tell the difference between a brachialis, a biceps brachii, or a brachioradialis? How about knowing which tools to use for foreign objects of various sizes, shapes, or mass? Know anything about that?”

“No, but-”

“Then stay out of my operating room and let me job!” Dr. Banner yelled, slamming the door behind him.

Steve looked at the door in complete disbelief. He could hardly believe Dr. Banner wouldn’t let him in. Steve tried the doorknob. Locked. He pushed against the wood with his shoulder. The door didn’t budge. Steve took a few steps away from the door, completely baffled. Why would the doctor shut him out? Steve just wanted to help. Bucky was his best friend. Steve should be by his side, making sure everything was okay. Instead, he was out here, barred by a flimsy wooden door that refused to open.

Steve turned around and looked around at his crew. Sam and Thor stood a few feet behind him ready for orders, but Steve didn’t have any orders to give. Bucky’s well-being was the only thing he could think about. Steve couldn’t do anything until he knew his best friend was safe.

“Captain,” said Thor. He held his hammer at the ready. “What are your orders?”

Steve looked at the door and prayed it would open. It did not.

“We wait,” said Steve. His voice sounded foreign even to his ears. “It’s all we can do.”

So, that’s what they did. Steve waited outside the door for what felt like days. Someone handed him a mug of coffee, but he didn’t drink it. Steve didn’t want to take his eyes off the door even for a second just in case something happened. He vaguely felt the warm burn of the coffee mug in his palm, but Steve couldn’t be bothered to pay it any mind. The only thing on Steve’s mind was Bucky. Bucky’s face truing pale with each passing second, the trail of blood leading from the car to the doctor’s office, the memory made Steve’s stomach churn but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. It just kept playing in his mind like a broken record. Blood and pain over and over and over and over and over and over-

A strong hand squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “Hey,” said Sam, his voice low. “You okay?”

Steve shrugged and gave a vague grunt.

Sam let out a tired sigh. “That’s not an answer. ” His eyes drifted down to the cup in Steve’s side. “Did you drink any of that?”

Steve looked down at the mug of coffee. The black drink was stone cold, just like a dead body. Steve shook his head and handed the cup back to Sam.

Sam pressed two fingers to his temple and tried not to swear. “Steve, you can’t just sit here all night waiting for Bucky to recover. It’s not going to make the surgery go any faster. Look, there’s a bathroom and a sink down that way. Go wash up.”

“I’m fine,” Steve grumbled.

“Oh my god, Steve. That’s not a suggestion. You’re covered in blood and you smell like shit. As your friend, I’m telling you, clean yourself up.”

Steve glanced at his hands curled up in his lap. Black and red scabs decorated the back of his knuckles. Ruby red blood stained his fingernails and dotted the palm of his hand. It should hurt, but for some reason, every nerve in his body felt numb. His entire brain felt like mush. It was as if he was a stranger in his own body.

“What about Bucky? What if something happens to him?” asked Steve.

“Thor can keep watch. You need to get cleaned up before something gets infected.”

“But what if he comes out while I’m away?”

“You’ll be gone for all of five seconds. Trust me, whatever happens, Thor will take care of it.”

Sam placed both hands on Steve’s shoulders. He pushed Steve up and started ushering him away from the chairs. As Steve made his way toward the washroom, he heard Thor and Sam whisper amongst themselves.

“Should we tell him about Natasha?” asked Thor.

“Maybe later. He’s got enough on his mind without having to worry about the fact that she’s missing” Sam whispered back.

“Aye, but her lack of presence still troubles me.”

“Me too. But there’s nothing we can do. Cap’s in no place to give orders and given Bucky’s condition...” Sam let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I think the smart thing is to stay put for now.”

Thor nodded. “Agreed. We should trust our friend. As much as I worry about her health, I know she can take care of herself.”

“Yeah, she can be pretty scary sometimes,” Sam said with a strained chuckle. “Hey, let me know if anything happens with Bucky. I’ll keep an eye on Cap for now. The way he’s acting… I worry about him.”

“As do I. Watch over him, friend. Should anything happen to Barnes, you shall be the first to know.”

“Thanks, Thor.”

* * *

With Sam at his back, Steve made his way down the hall to what he assumed was a type of mud room. Hooks for jackets were drilled into the walls, white tile covered the floor, and multiple pairs of dirty boots were shoved into a corner. The room smelled like wet dog and the floor looked like it needed a good scrubbing.

There was also a large, white sink on the opposite wall. Two people could easily stand on either side of it and not be feel crowded. To the right of the sink, fraying fabric of various shapes and sizes were stacked on a shelf. Underneath the shelf was a basket already half full of bloody rags.

Well, Steve could figure out what to do from there.

Sam walked over to the sink and turned on the water. The exposed pipes creaked and rumbled as clean water raced out of the tap. Steve put his hand under the water and just as quickly pulled it back. It was cold. Ice cold.

“Just take your time, Steve. We’re not in a rush.”

Steve took a second to emotionally prepare himself before putting his hands back under the water. Goosebumps ran up the back of his arms. He let the water cascade down and around his fingers. The cold felt good on his hands. The brusque chill helped ground his thoughts. Helped him not think about the ‘what if’s and ‘should have done’.

Steve grabbed a rag and started scrubbing the blood off his hands. It took some effort but within a few minutes, large chunks of blood and puss ran off his knuckles and down the drain. When the white material was completely stained red, Steve tossed it into the basket. He snatched a clean one off the shelf, got it wet, and began dabbing at his shirt. Some of the blood came out, but it mostly just made his shirt wet and stick to his skin.

With his hands as shirt was as clean as he could get, Steve bent down and splashed a bit of water on his face. Steve let out a long sigh. Water ran off his face in large drops. He closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to breathe.

He was so cold. He felt so lost and alone. Everyone was looking to him for answer and Steve didn’t have any. The world as he knew it was crumbling down around him and the only thing Steve could do was hang on. Bucky was in intensive care, Natasha was missing, Tony was … Steve could barely wrap his head around what Tony was. He was worried to death about Bucky, but as hard as he tried to ignore it, thoughts of Tony drifted in and out of his mind.

When Steve found out Tony was Iron Man, the first emotion he felt was relief. Now, having had time to think about it, Steve’s feelings were more complex. Relief was still there but so was confusion, fear, anger, and sense of betrayal.

Iron Man and Tony were one in the same. That meant that everything that Iron Man (mob boss and speakeasy owner) had done, Tony Stark (mild-mannered engineer) had also been okay with. Death, weapons of mass destruction, Tony was okay with all of that. He was okay with someone like Bucky getting hurt in the crossfires. Steve heart couldn’t understand something like that.

Logically Steve understood that both he and Tony led complicated lives. Their sources of income were illegal. Their work and any discussions regarding such topics had to be made of well fabricated lies. As rum runner, Steve understood this. He understood the risks. Sometimes people got caught in the middle of a firefight and he just had to accept that. Yet, why did learning about Tony’s true identity hurt so much? Why did Tony hide his identity from Steve for so long?

Was it because Steve was useful to him? Providing him ideas and rum? Steve tried to shake the thought from his head, but it stayed with him like a bad itch.

Was if it was true? Was Tony keeping Steve around just because he was useful? What about the flirting? Tony flirted with Steve like it was second nature. Had that been a lie too? Some weird sort of ruse to keep Steve a compliant and willing puppet? It didn’t feel like a lie. The way Tony’s lips curled when he smiled, the way his eyes sparkled when he looked at Steve, the brightness in Tony’s voice when he laughed, that wasn’t a lie. Was it?

What about what Tony had said in the car ride here? About making ‘them’ pay. Tony had to be lying. Steve couldn’t imagine Tony doing something like that.

In the distance, Steve heard a scream. He lifted his head out of the sink and looked around for the source of the sound. “What was that?” Steve asked.

Sam looked around. “What?”

A high-pitched snap bounced off the stone walls. “That. Sounded like bones breaking.”

“Must be Tony,” Sam said as he scrubbed the blood off his own hands. “Saw him dragging a body off earlier. Kept muttering something about making them pay.”

A sobering chill ran down Steve’s body. He bit the inside of his lip and tried to stay calm. Steve’s heart pounded in his chest as understanding washed over him. Bones breaking. Screaming. Tony had one of their attackers in custody and he was putting the scum through the ringer.

Steve looked down at the large, red stain on his shirt. Bucky’s blood. Bucky’s life plastered to his chest. Steve thought about how good it would look paired with a set of freshly bloodied knuckles. He clenched his fists, feeling the tense energy in his shoulders roll into his hands like choppy waves before a storm.

“Which way.”

Sam’s hands stilled. The tap squeaked as he turned off the water. He was waited for Steve to say something else or claim it was all just a joke. But Sam knew Steve like he knew the back of his hand. He knew Steve wasn’t joking about this.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re not in the best shape to-”

Steve choose his next words very carefully. “Which. Way.”

Sam pointed to the left. Specks of red decorated the floor like breadcrumbs. There were a few large drops of blood, but something had dragged through them like a paintbrush. Something large. Something heavy. Something Steve could punch.

“Hey,” Sam grabbed Steve’s arm. “I know you’re worried about Bucky. We all are. But don’t let yourself get too carried away. Killing won’t help anyone.”

Steve pulled his arm out of Sam’s grasp. “Maybe not,” he muttered, “but I bet it’ll help me feel better.”

* * *

Steve followed the trail of blood until he came face to face with a large door. On the wood, someone had posted a flimsy paper sign that read ‘Interrogation in progress.’

Steve glared at the sign before ripping it off the wall. He gave a curt “Coming in,” before turning the knob and opening the door.

The first thing that Steve noticed was how empty the room was. It was about the size of his bedroom. Maybe smaller. A single lightbulb hung from the ceiling, flooding the room with in an eerie golden glow. The walls were bare save lines of brown blood splattered against the wood like slashes from a knife.

In the middle of the room was a single wooden chair. IN the chair sat the man. A stream of blood ran down the side of his face and dripped onto the floor. His face was swollen as if he had too much food forcefully stuffed into his cheeks. His hands were bound behind his back in a heavy rope that burned the soft skin underneath like fire.

“Nice to see you, Captain.”

Steve’s attention shifted to the other man in the room.

Tony walked behind the prisoner like a lion stalking his prey. He held his bloody hands loosely behind his back. His smile was relaxed and easy as if nothing was wrong. But Steve could sense a cold anger hidden underneath the surface. It was something about his eyes. Something about the Cheshire curl of his smile. Something about his posture that screamed ‘boss.’

“Keep the door open, please,” Tony said with a knowing smile. “I want to see if our guest is dumb enough to make a run for it.”

“A run for it? I don’t think he’d be that-”

The chair clattered to the ground and the man took off like a shot straight for the door. Steve’s mind went blank, but his body knew exactly what to do.

When the man got closer, Steve grabbed a fist full of hair and pulled his head down. Steve brought his right leg up and kneed the man in the nose. The man’s head snapped back like a whip. He screamed bloody murder as his nose bled out like a fountain. He staggered away from the door, but Steve wasn’t done yet. Steve bared his teeth and kicked the man in the gut. The man feel backwards and tumbled back into the room.

He landed on the floor, the chair only a few inches away from his back, and immediately curled his body into a fetal position. His fingers wrapped around the chair leg for dear life, but it was no use. Tony yanked the chair away from the man’s grasp and sent it flying into the wall.

“Now, let’s try this again.” Tony ground the heel of his boot into the man’s fingers. The man screamed, but Tony didn’t bat an eye. “Who sold you those weapons?”

The grunt hissed through gritted teeth. “Not sold. A gift so Hydra can peruse our righteous purpose.”

“Sold, gift, call it whatever you like. I want to know who gave it to you.”

Tony twisted his heel deeper into the sensitive flesh, but man didn’t answer. His squeezed his eyes shit and bit down on his bottom lip until a line of blood dripped down his chin and onto the floor.

Tony sighed. He removed his foot and casually walked around to the other side. He looked down at the grunt’s face, covered in dirt, sweat, and blood. “Just to be sure I understand, you’d rather ripped apart to keep your tongue than give up now and go back to your friends and family in one piece.”

The man shifted his gaze up to Tony’s face. His lips parted just enough that the only sound in the room was the man’s heavy breathing. He didn’t say a word, but Steve knew immediately what that cold look in his eyes meant. A challenge to the death for information.

Tony was not intimidated in the least. He rolled back his shoulders. The powerful rage in his eyes settled into a calm, neutral expression. “Okay. We’re playing that way.” Without another word, Tony sauntered over to the far corner of the room. He picked up his dress jacket and shrugged it over his shoulders like a second skin. Tony spun around on the bloody heels of his shoes and smiled at Steve. “I’m going to take a break.”

Steve was shocked. A break? Tony couldn’t mean that, right? He hadn’t even finished the job.

But true to his word, Tony started walking straight for the exit. As Tony pulled one shoulder back to shimmy past Steve, the blond man grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled him close. “You’re not really going to leave him like this, right?” he hissed into Tony’s ear.

Tony shrugged, a coy smile playing on his lips. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

Steve grimaced. A feral growl began to build deep in his throat. “He hurt Bucky,” said Steve. His fingers dug into Tony’s arm. “You don’t let a person like _him_ get away with something like that.”

“No, I don’t. And I imagine,” said Tony, whispering sweet words into Steve’s ear, “you’d really like to get a few whacks in as payback.”

Steve’s eyes drifted over to the goon laying on the floor. The man was beaten up and bewildered, but he didn’t look the least bit sorry for what he had done.

The flames of anger began to burn in his stomach. Steve felt his breath catch as he grew desperate for the taste of revenge on his tongue. His fingers dug into the rich fabric of Tony’s suit with enough brute strength to rip the material to shreds. “Sam said not to kill anyone,” said Steve, his eyes still on the man.

A sly grin stretched across Tony’s face. He put a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder and whispered once more into his ear, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

That was all the push Steve needed to hear. He stomped over to the man and nudged his beaten face with the heel of his shoe, hard.

The man yowled in pain. His turned his face to the ground, but Steve wasn’t done with him. He dug his fingers into the man’s scalp, knelt down, and pulled the beading man’s head up to eye level so Steve could look him in those beady black eyes.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick the daylight out of you.”

The man closed his eyes. His head lolled forward. Then he began to laugh. It was quiet at first. Then it got louder, and louder. Within seconds, his unquestionably ruthless laughs filled the room. “Does a man grovel to an ant for mercy? I have no need to say anything. You are below me in every way, patty,” he hissed, lobbing a shot of blood into Steve’s face.

It took a second for Steve to blink through the blood. When he did, a cold wave of anger ran down Steve’s spine. His cheeks ran hot, but his face remained cold as stone. Steve’s lips flattened into a straight line. He release the man and let the laughing maniac writhe across the floor like the worm he was. Steve wiped the blood off his face with the back of his hand. He looked back at Tony one last time.

Tony gave an approving nod and Steve got to work.

Steve grabbed the man by the neck and hauled him up to his feet. Steve dug his fingers into the goon’s throat until Steve’s knuckles turned white. The man choked on his breath. He tried to squirm his way out of Steve’s grasp, but with his hands bound behind his back and his feet dangling a few inches above the ground, there was little he could do.

When the man’s face changed to a hue that bordered on blue, Steve threw him head first into the nearby wall. The man cried out as bone cracked against the wood. His head bounced off the surface like a baseball as he staggered back. He teetered about for a few seconds as he tried to find his balance.

Steve didn’t give him the chance. He rushed at the goon hard and fast. Left hook to an eye. Upper cut to the jaw. Elbow to the gut. Heel dug into toes. Reopening wounds until the cement floor was a sea of red. With each hit from Steve’s fist, the goon looked less like a man and more like a worn punching bag.

When Steve finally stepped back for some air, the man collapsed onto the floor like a rag doll. His body didn’t even twitch. But Steve wasn’t done yet. “Get up, scum,” Steve barked. He dug his foot into the bleeding man’s stomach. “Where’s the mouth you had earlier? Where’s that confidence? Where is your pride? Where is that sonofabitch that killed Bucky!?”

The man didn’t answer. His lips parted open as if to speak, but his jaw was completely slack. A small stream of drool dribble out of his mouth and onto the floor. The only truth he would tell mixing with his own piss and blood.

Steve took another step back. The sound of Steve’s heavy breathing filled the small room. Steve’s ears caught the sharp click of Tony’s shoes as he approached them. He placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You all done?” Tony asked.

Steve closed his eyes and whipped his mouth with the least bloody part of his sleeve. He looked over his shoulder at Tony, expecting to see some sort of shock or horror at Steve’s barbaric display of anger. Instead, the look on Tony’s face was the antithesis of fear. He looked calm and relaxed, as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

Steve wanted to ask Tony why he wasn’t scared, but all that came out was, “He dead?”

Tony cocked his head to the side. He knelt down and placed two fingers along the man’s still wrist. “Surprisingly, still alive,” he said. Tony looked almost impressed.

Steve closed his eyes and let out a heavy groan. “I know it’s not right, but I really, really want to break his neck.”

Tony nodded. He knew the feeling all too well. “Let me see your hands. I want to see the damage,” Tony said as he stood up.

Steve grunted. He tried to lift his hands, but he couldn’t. He was too tired. The physical and emotional toll was finally hitting him and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Steve’s hands felt heavy. Like blocks of cement were tied to his wrists and pulling him down. He felt drained and exhausted of any emotion.

Tony must have noticed something was wrong with Steve. Maybe it was his heavy breathing or the unfocused look in his eyes. Either way, Tony took the initiative. He slipped his calloused hands under Steve’s fingers and lifted the bloody digits up to his discerning eyes. Tony hummed at the bruises and abrasions along the back of Steve’s hands. He ran his thumbs along the bright red knuckles. Steve hissed as Tony’s fingers brushed against the flaps of skin peeling off his hands. “Skin’s broken,” said Tony. “We should get you patched up.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m not done with him,” Steve muttered. “He still needs to talk. He needs to tell me why he hurt Bucky.”

He tried to pull away, but Tony held onto Steve’s hands and stopped him. “Calm down Cap. I’m not done with him either. But it doesn’t look like he’ll talking any time soon. Why don’t we go upstairs? Get something to drink. Make him wait and imagine what we have in store for him.”

Steve’s eyes drifted to the man on the floor. The dark red splotches on his face were already fading into a dark purple. Steve closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths. As useless as he felt about Bucky’s situation, Steve knew Tony was right. No point in trying to get information like this. “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s go.”

Tony smiled. He squeezed Steve’s hand and quietly led him out to the hall. He locked the door to the interrogation room behind them before leading Steve up a set of stairs hidden behind a wall of wine barrels. Tony turned the handle of a hidden door, revealing an luxurious office. The floor was line with an extravagantly designed yet tasteful tile. A variety of plush and wood chairs had been meticulously placed around a large red rug in the middle of the room. The exposed wood walls were a dark brown that matched the heavy, desk on the opposite side of the office.

A few feet away from the desk was a cabinet filled with spirits as well as a small bar counter. Tony walked over to the cabinet and pulled out two bottles, both half full of alcohol. The one with a long neck was filled with a liquid so clear and pure it looked like water. The second bottle was fancier and clearly more expensive. A beautiful amber whiskey lapped the inside the textured glass like waves.

“Drink?” asked Tony, fetching a towel and a whiskey glass out from behind the bar.

“Not really, thank,” Steve mumbled.

“Water then,” Tony said, pulling out a second glass. “Need to stay hydrated after a show like that.”

Steve shook his head. “Only you would call a bloodbath like that a show.”

“Can you blame me?” Tony asked with a flirty wink. “I’m stretched between two companies and three different identities. I am the definition of stressed and overworked. I have to get my kicks from somewhere.”

Tony poured two drinks; one water, one whiskey, before splashing some of the clear liquid onto the towel. Steve wrinkled his nose as the sharp scent filled the air. The smell of strong vodka was hard to avoid in such a small office.

With practiced fingers, Tony rung out the towel in a small bowl. He downed his whiskey in one go and took a sip of vodka for good luck. Water in one hand and sanitized towel in the other, Tony rounded the bar and began making his way toward Steve.

Steve tucked his bloody hands close to his chest. He looked down at Tony and tried not to think about how much his fingers stung or how Tony’s long lashes made him look like a beautiful nurse coming to care for him. “I’m fine,” Steve lied. He didn’t need Tony’s help licking his wounds

Tony smiled. “I know,” he said. His voice was gentle. Completely different from the tone he used in the interrogation room.

Tony held out the glass of water. Steve took it, but as he did, Tony’s fingers drifted down Steve’s hand and gently caressed the inside of his palm. A shiver ran up Steve’s back. Tony’s touch left a tingling trail of warmth from the crease in Steve’s hand all the way down to his wrist.

“Let me do this, please? You’re the one that got injured, Steve. Let me be the one to clean you up.”

Steve frowned. He didn’t like being treated like this. Steve wasn’t useless. He could take care of himself. He could clean his own damn hands if he really wanted to. But the longer Steve waited to voice his opposition, the more he thought about how nice it would be to feel Tony’s fingers caressing the back of Steve’s hand. How gentle those rough fingers would be against Steve’s damaged flesh. How intimate and quiet something like this could be.

So, Steve relented. He slowly turned his hand over and once more showed Tony the damage. Tony beamed. He patted the towel along the back of Steve’s knuckles. Steve winced and let out a tight hiss. The alcohol stung.

Steve bit down on his tongue and let Tony do his thing. He was happy sitting in silence, but Tony seemed unnerved by it. “If you really need an excuse,” he said as if Steve needed a reason to let another man tend to his wounds. “Just think of this as payment for the favor.”

“Favor?”

“For taking care of that guy downstairs,” Tony said casually. “I couldn’t do it as well as you. I’m better at getting into their heads. Use their own thoughts against them as opposed to brute force. I usually let Bruce rough ‘em up, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Oh. That. Steve felt his heart sink into his stomach. “So, that’s all I am to you. A useful tool to do your dirty work.”

“Hey, hey now. That’s not fair,” chided Tony. “I just gave you an opportunity to get even. Didn’t say you had to, but you took it.”

Yeah, but that wasn’t the same. … Was it?

Tony let out a heavy sigh. “Look,” Tony said, running the rag along the length of Steve’s fingers. “I know you’re still angry at me. I get it. And, for what little its worth, I never planned on using you for personal gain or anything like that. Kinda got caught up in the secrets I had to keep, and now everything is coming to a head. So, sorry if I used you. I didn’t mean it.”

Steve nodded as he mulled over Tony’s apology.  “You could have told me,” he muttered under his breath.

The towel stilled. “About what?”

“About all this,” Steve said, gesturing to the lavish room. “About your job, your gang, about anything.”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah, I could have but I didn’t want to scare you off. Telling someone you’re a mafia boss isn’t exactly first date material.”

“What about second date or third date? You had plenty of chances and not once did you hint that there might be some life changing information that I need to know.”

“Maybe I did, but I’m not the only one at fault here. You have your secrets too. Why didn’t you say something?”

“That’s… It’s not the same.”

Tony let out a heavy sigh. “Pot. Kettle. Doesn’t matter anymore. Cat’s out of the bag. This is as bad as it can get. Unless,” Tony paused for dramatic effect. “Unless you’ve got something else you’d like to confess, Steve.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tony drawled. He looked around the room then beckoned Steve closer. Steve leaned in until Tony’s lips could brush the edge of Steve’s ear, Tony whispered, “Is your name really Steve?”

Steve barked a laugh and then quickly covered his mouth. “Yes,” Steve said, trying to suppress his smile. “Yes, my name is Steve.”

“Darn.” Tony mockingly snapped his fingers. “And here I was hoping you were secretly a Chris.”

Steve laughed at that. “How about you? Is your name really Tony?”

“Better be,” Tony said with a coy wink. “Or else I’ve been committing identity fraud for the past thirty years or so. I could go to jail for that.”

“Of all the things to catch you on, the feds catch you on that. What a shame.”

“Could be worse,” said Tony, leaning back into Steve’s space. “Could be tax evasion.”

“Not murder?”

“Nope. Never murder. I’m way too smart to be caught for that,” Tony said with a wink. “But, I might have to turn you in for theft.”

“And why would have you to do that?” asked Steve, goofy smile playing at his lips.

“Simple,” Tony said. “You’ve stolen my heart.”

Steve’s heart skipped a beat. His cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment. Steve’s entire world lit up in a flash of possibilities and just as quickly went out.

“Tony, I…” Steve stammered. He knew what he wanted to say, but he just couldn’t fine the right words to express it. “It’s just... I want to but… Bucky is…”

The hope in Tony’s eyes faded. His smile disappeared. He looked down at his hands and tried to hide the disappointment on his face. “So, I was mistaken then. You and Bucky. You guys are… You’re seeing him.”

“No! I’m not. We’re just friends. Good friends. I’m just…,” Steve sputtered. Words, why couldn’t he form them at an important time like this. “It’s just a lot to take in.”

“Me?” Tony asked meekly.

Steve let out a strained laugh. “Everything. Your job, my job, all these secrets and lies we’ve been telling each other. And, I think, it’d just be weird. Not a relationship with you. That’d be the most normal thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“What would be weird then?”

Steve closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “I think, Buck’s injury bringing us together would make a weird start to a relationship. What if he has a turn for the worst? What if he doesn’t make it?”

Tony placed his hand on Steve’s knee. “Steve, He will make it. I promise you, he will.”

“How do can you be so sure?” asked Steve. “With everything that’s been going on, how can you be sure about anything?”

“I just… It’s hard to explain but-” Tony started to say something, but he stopped himself mid-sentence. “Okay, I do have one last secret. But it’s not a bad one I promise. Just… don’t run, okay?”

Steve bit down on his lip. The way Tony was talking, it sounded like whatever Tony wanted to show Steve was bad. Really bad. Life changing information bad. But as much as the anxiety churned in his stomach, Steve was tired of lies and secrets. As ironically as it was for a criminal to want, Steve wanted the truth.

Without a word, Steve nodded his approval. Tony’s lips twitched up into a weak smile as he reached for his tie. Steve’s sharp eyes caught the small tremble in Tony’s fingers as he loosened the intricate knot around his neck. With practiced fingers, Tony removed his tie and let the silk fabric slip down to the floor between his fingers. Next came the buttons. Deft fingers worked each ivory button open until Tony’s entire chest was exposed.

Steve licked his lips at the sight of Tony’s dusty nipples pebbling up in the cool air. But something was wrong. Tony’s chest was riddled with scars, but none of them made any sense. Raised flesh branched out from the center of Tony’s chest like tree roots searching for water. But the area over Tony’s heart, the place the scars should have been thickest, was completely smooth.

Steve was about to ask what happened, but Tony shook his head. He wasn’t done yet. Brown eyes locked in blue, Tony fingers drifted to the center of the flawless skin. He rubbed small circles into the flesh until something crackled underneath his fingers. Steve’s mouth dropped open as some sort of fabric or plastic covering fell away under Tony’s touch. As Tony pulled away the wrapping, a hypnotizing blue light filled the room.

“Tony.” The name came out as barely a whisper between Steve’s lips. “What in the hell is that?”

Embedded in Tony’s chest was something akin to a lightbulb. A metal circle about the size of a can of beans sat squarely in the middle of Tony’s sternum. Silver wires ran round the circumference like filament making the metal glow bright blue. A white triangle sat in the center of the device and glowed with the strength of a hundred neon lights. A thin layer of glass covered the device and protected it from contaminants.

Steve couldn’t stop staring at it. The machine in Tony’s chest, it was so beautiful.

Tony cleared his throat. Thank goodness Steve wasn’t the only one nervous. “Short version, it’s a machine that keeps me alive. I had to install in myself after the Ten Rings gang hit my Boston hideout with a Jericho missile.”

“You put this in your body?” His fingers gravitating to the hypnotic glow like a moth to a flame.

Tony shrugged. “Didn’t have a choice. It was either this, a car battery, or let my heart be shredded from the shrapnel.”

Steve’s hand slowed and stops a hair breath away from the metal casing. “Does it … hurt?”

Tony smiled, and this time, that familiar twinkle reaches his eyes. “Not anymore,” he said, voice soft and reverent. “But I sure as hell made those bastards who hurt me experience every bit of pain I felt during surgery.”

“You can touch it if you want,” Tony said when Steve showed no sign of looking away. “But it’s fine if you don’t. Lots of people don’t like looking at it.”

“You sure?”

The edges of Tony’s eyes softened. “Here, let me show you where to start.”

He reached out and took Steve’s hand in his. Tony pulled Steve’s hand down until his large fingers brushed the outside of the silver circle.

Steve gasped. He had expected the device to feel cold to the touch, but to his surprise, the metal circle was warm. Steve ran his fingers along the circumference of the device. His hand danced away from the metal and pressed against the glass above the glowing light. He closed his eyes and felt the quiet hum of the machine. Each thrum under his fingers felt like a heartbeat. Like it was alive.

“It’s beautiful,” Steve whispered. Steve carefully lifted his hand away from the machine and pressed his fingers against the angry scars around the metal casing. Goosebumps ran up his arm as Steve traced his fingers back and forth across the wild root system across Tony’s chest. Tony didn’t flinch once.

“Can you…” asked Steve, pressing his fingers gently against the raised skin. “Are you…”

“In pain? No,” answered Tony with a shy smile. “It’s all numb now. Nerve damage from the bomb and the surgery. Couldn’t be helped.”

Steve nodded, his eyes never looking away from Tony’s chest. “Will the same happen to Bucky?”

The smile disappeared from Tony’s lips. He ran a hand through his dirty hair and let out a heavy sigh. “Don’t know,” Tony said. “Bucky didn’t get a chest full of shrapnel like me, so he might be okay. Then again, Bruce is the only doctor here. Last time Bruce _and_ Yensin were the ones performing surgery. With Bruce flying solo, I can’t say for sure.

“But Steve, I promise you this,” Tony said, taking Steve’s hands in his. “No matter what happens I will do everything in my power to make things right.”

“That’s a very big promise.”

Tony’s lips peeled back into a toothy smile. “I’m a very powerful man, Steve. I can keep big promises like that.”

Steve looked at Tony. He wanted to believe him. Tony’s power was real and his conviction was contagious. But fixing a broken heart was different than mending a damaged arm. Could he do it? Steve wanted to believe him. He wanted to trust him. The question was, could Steve do that after everything that’s happened to them? After all the lies and deceit on both sides, could Steve Rogers really trust Tony Stark?

Maybe a better question to ask himself was, could Tony Stark put his trust in Steve Rogers?

The phone on the desk rang, breaking the tension between them. Tony marched over to the receiver and picked it up before the third ring.

“Yeah?” he said into the phone. A chill ran down Steve’s back as the cold, harsh voice of Iron Man replaced the softness in Tony’s eyes. “Yeah, he’s with me. Yes Pepper, my pants are still around my waist. No, I didn’t. I dislike that you insinuate that I … Okay. I understand. We’ll be there in a second.”

“Any news?” Steve asked as Tony returned the receiver back to it’s cradle.

“Bruce is taking a break. Wants to talk to me about options,” said Tony, running a hand through his hair.

“Options? What did he mean by options?” asked Steve. Steve didn’t have a good feeling about ‘opinions’ going by the look on Tony’s face and the tone he used.

“Didn’t say,” said Tony. He glanced at Steve. There was a bit of worry hidden in the corners of his eyes, but that didn’t give Steve any information as to what might be in store for him.

The word ‘options’ sounded ominous. Steve wasn’t looking forward to whatever theses ‘options’ were. It would mean Bucky would have to make a choice. Or worse, maybe Steve would have to make that choice for Bucky. What if he made the wrong choice? What if he did what he thought was in Bucky’s best interest and he got it wrong. What if Bucky had to live the rest of his life with a glowing machine in his chest because of a stupid mistake Steve made. Would Bucky ever be able to forgive him?

“You … um… ready to go back down?” asked Tony. He gestured to the hidden door that led back downstairs. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You’ve been through a lot today. I can take care of it from here.”

Steve looked down at his hands. He closed his eyes, found his resolve, and held onto it with both hands. “I want to be there,” Steve said. “Even if the results aren’t good, I should be there. He’s my best friend. We promised each other we’d be there till the end of the line.”

“You sure? No one will think any less of you if you sit this one out.”

Steve nodded. “I’ll be fine. You got hit with the same thing that hit Bucky and you survived to tell the tale. I… I trust you on this. Besides, things couldn’t get any worse, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  So *ahem* it's been very much over a year. I've been saying I want to come back to this for a long time and now I've finally worked up the energy to write one chapter. Here's to the next one coming out sooner than later I guess?
> 
> Bit of housekeeping; I spent some mones during the Stony Trumps Hate auction and I got you guys some art. It's not directly from the fic, but I specifically requested this scene and Domon did an amazing job. Go check them out. Leave a like, reblog, or shower them with love. [[link to art]](http://tonysvandyke.tumblr.com/post/169306527611/another-sth-auction-piece-art-for-miniblackraven)
> 
> ~~(It's also an apology for not posting for so long, but you don't need to know that.)~~
> 
> Also also, trying to get better at marketing myself. Here's a link to [[my tumblr]](https://miniblackraven.tumblr.com/) and [[my twitter]](https://twitter.com/MiniBlackRaven). Tumblr is for reblogs. Still learning how to use twitter, so for now it's random thoughts and hopefully writing updates.  
> For my older readers, thank's for hanging in there. And for those new readers, welcome and enjoy your stay.


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